


Boar Hunt With Deity

by Taz



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Comedy, Genderswap, Incest, Multi, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz





	1. Flushing The Game

_Hunting wild boar is like a military operation. There’s a master of the hunt who regulates the movements of the hunters, deployed in strategic locations along the hillsides, and the hounds, sent to drive out the boars that rest in the cool dark places in the pine stands. Organization is essential because the sharp tusked animals are dangerous..._

Alerted by the fetid smell in the air, they had known the boar was close. But they’d been stunned by its speed and savagery. Everything happened at once: white tusks ripped into flesh, the pig’s outraged squealing, the yelping of the dogs and the ugly noise of a man dying. Now the body of Orion, Master of King Iphicles’ Hunt, lay in the dirt with the bodies of the three hounds that had accompanied him to Hades. And the boar, the largest Hercules had ever seen, stood with its razor back bristling like a warrior’s crest.

A dog whined. The animal charged. Men scattered in every direction and only Iolaus had the presence of mind to stand his ground and try for a cast. But his light spear fell short and he stood disarmed, facing a ton of rampaging pork with hooves, snout and double curved ivory tusks already stained red.

Hercules couldn’t wait any longer. He threw and, by some miracle, struck the animal in the hindquarter. Its leg buckled under and it squealed with rage. Iolaus, sensibly, took refuge behind a clump of young trees.

Grabbing up one of the great boar spears dropped during the melee, Hercules advanced on the wounded animal.

The boar lurched to its feet, the barbed spear point embedded in its flesh and the shaft dragging on the ground. Iolaus popped out of the bush he’d taken cover behind. “Kill it, Herc! Kill it and we’ll have spare ribs for the funeral feast.”

Heavy head swaying from side to side, furious little red eyes watching Hercules’ approach, the boar grunted, as much as to say, ‘when I get wings, Blondie.’

“Iolaus, stay back. It’s wounded. It’s going to....” Hercules dropped to one knee, bracing the spear against his thigh and anchoring his hand behind the cross piece. But the animal was wickedly clever. Instead of running up on the shaft, it turned in mid dash and went for Iolaus.

“Fuckin’ Zeus,” Iolaus yipped and tried to skin up one of the little trees. The trunk, too slender to bear his weight, bent double, dumping him back on the ground just as the pig hit it.

Trees, bushes and Iolaus went tumbling as the boar dug into the earth, uprooting everything it could reach. Hercules screamed Iolaus’ name and ran. The boar’s squealing and snorting sounded like manic laughter as it dashed off into the woods.

“Iolaus.” Hercules dropped to his knees beside his friend, tucked into a protective ball. “Tell me you’re not hurt.”

Iolaus took his hands way from his face, looked at them front and back as though he couldn’t believe they where still attached to his arms. “Ok,” he said. “I’m not hurt. But you are.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.” Iolaus pointed at Hercules arm. Blood was trickling from a neat puncture in the fleshy part of his thumb. It stung. Just a little. “Only a scratch.” He dismissed it and helped Iolaus rise. “Come on, if you’re up to it. That boar’s wounded and it’ll be more dangerous than ever. We’ve got to track it and kill it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not letting any overgrown sack of sausage make a monkey out of me.”

“No. You took care of that part all by yourself.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Tell me how clever you are with Certain Death coming at you. You didn’t see the look in its eyes. That pig had it in for me personally...” Iolaus continued grumbling.

“It’s just a boar, Iolaus. They get a particularly vicious breed up here near Calydonia.” He watched Iolaus carefully, caught in the fear that had gripped him when the boar charged.

The two joined the rest of the hunting party regrouped around what was left of Orion’s body. Suppressing a surge of nausea, Hercules looked away and regretted he’d done so. Elaborate bloody decorations festooned the brush, evidence of the wanton nature of the animal they’d pursued. All too easily that could have been Iolaus. Or Iphicles.

As he gave orders for the rest of the party to bury the dogs and gather up Orion’s body to convey back to Corinth, he tried not to think about that. Hunting monsters—and this beast qualified—was what he and Iolaus did. But for Iphicles, the king, his brother, the fields and woods and the rites of the hunt were one of the few escapes from court and the responsibilities of being king. Another day and it could have been Iphicles facing that animal.

He gave instructions to let Iphicles know that he and Iolaus were going to continue the hunt—alone.

Some of the local hunters wanted to argue. He could understand their desire to be in on the kill, but this animal was too dangerous and he didn’t need to be distracted with concerns for their safety as well.

Eventually they left and he and Iolaus were able to collect their weapons and packs and set out. The trail was easy to follow from the amount of damage the animal was causing in its pain.

“Did you see Orion’s face?” Iolaus said as they lopped along, “Maybe he had a heart attack or died of fright before he was ripped apart.”

“Now, there’s a comforting thought,” Hercules said. A sudden sharp pain in his side made him pause. Iolaus looked at him, but he held up a hand, “Listen!” Off to the right a soft, angry grunting noise demanded their attention. Moving cautiously, they located their quarry.

The boar was in a thicket, brushing against a wind fallen log, trying to dislodge Hercules’ spear. As they approached, hot little red eyes drilled into his. The boar glared at them with such malevolence Hercules felt _Iolaus was right, this is personal. _

Without thinking, he put his hands up in front of his face. There was a blinding flash of blue light, and when his vision cleared, Ares, God of War, was standing there with the spear still embedded in the back of one powerful, naked thigh. With his lips curled back from his teeth in rage, Ares bore the look of a god not having a good day.

Hercules sighed. “Coming out of your natural shape, Ares?”

The God of War didn’t deign to answer. Before either Hercules or Iolaus could react, he reached back, jerked the spear from his body and threw it. Iolaus had to suck in his stomach as it blew by on its way to taking a neat core out of the trunk of an old oak. Not at all fazed, Iolaus cocked a snook at the god and chanted. “Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me.”

Hercules didn’t know which of them he wanted to hit first but his divine half-brother definitely had the edge on who he wanted to hit harder.

But Ares was still subject to the animal. Even from a few feet away, Hercules could feel the heat radiating from him and smell the rank odor of boar. Fully aroused, cock jutted arrogantly against a dense black pelt, he sucked on the palm of his hand and glared at them from eyes as red as the blood that was running down the back of his leg from the wound he hadn’t bothered to heal.

“What?” When he took his hand from his mouth and his lower incisors were long enough to show above his upper lip. “I’m minding my own business and here come your pack of yahoos trying to stick me.”

 “What did you expect? You’ve been ravaging the countryside, despoiling crops and grazing land, killing young animals—” The list of the god’s recent sins was rhetorical. “—terrorized a shepherd, frightened two women into premature labor, raped the magistrate’s prize-winning sow (Iolaus snickered) and murdered a baby.”

 The expression on the god’s face grew dark. He said, emphatically, “No baby. I didn’t do any baby.”

“The people of Tacomas found the body,” Hercules overrode him. “And today you killed the king’s hunt master.”

“Yadda. Yadda. Occupational hazard,” Ares countered. “And that shepherd wasn’t terrorized until his father asked him why the sheep were so jumpy.” Putting his index finger to his cheek, Ares tipped his head. “If you know what I mean.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Hercules sighed. Every confrontation with Ares was—frustrating.

He really wished Ares would put some clothes on, the smell of boar musk was overpowering. It was making him light-headed. Anyway, Ares was ignoring him, apparently the palm of his hand was more interesting. Hercules tried to bring his attention back to the important charge. “You carried off a baby and left its mangled body on the steps of your temple in Censas.”

“I told you, _Jerkules_, I didn’t do any baby.” Ares looked exasperated. “The priest in Censas asked me to harry those people. You know it’s sacrilegious to…”

Ares’ voice seemed to be fading in and out although Ares was still standing in front of him with his mouth moving. The trees were gyrating and poking the sky like fingers. Hercules wanted to ask what was wrong with them but the sirens were caroling _‘come and rest’_  from way up above. He looked for the singers and Iolaus’ touched his arm. His friend looked pale and frightened and Hercules started to tell him about the music but Ares’ voice intruded…“Hey, Jerkules, I’m not done…” When the ground rose up and hit him, he was only vaguely aware of it.

Last night, he’d wondered how Iphicles stood it. Even with the receptions over for the day, his brother was still in sessions with the chancellor of the exchequer that would run past midnight. In Corinth for Iphicles’ birthday, he and Iolaus, had found the king in the midst of a pan-Hellenic trade summit. After months of negotiations that finally produced the right political climate to bring the major players among the Greek city-states to the table, the politicians weren’t passing up the ceremonial possibilities in a royal birthday bash. Instead of a quiet visit with Iphicles, they’d stood around being ornamental and supportive.

It hadn’t all been bad, but the pomp and attention were getting tiresome. At the end of a hard day, Hercules wanted warm companionship and a well-cooked meal, not a tepid banquet and the necessity of being tactful to foreign dignitaries—followed by more politics. If he wanted a long relaxing soak, he didn’t want it where the baths were filled with giggling strangers. _(Look, that’s Hercules! You know—the demigod and the king’s brother! Clea was in here yesterday when he…and she says it’s…) _Frankly, what he’d wanted, just then, was blazing sex with his lover—not being alone in bed with a book.

Fortunately, ‘The Odyssey’ was a hot novel by a new young writer. A roman-a-clef, based loosely on that trouble the king of Ithaca had finding his way home after the war. There’d been a lot of popular theories about Odysseus’s poor sense of direction and Hercules snickered over Homer’s. If you knew Poseidon, you’d know how unlikely the plot was. But the author had nailed his characters and, if some of the personal details were true, it was obvious why Penelope had been holding out for a hero.

Every now and then, his hand had crept restlessly under the covers to roll the foreskin back from the head of his cock or fondle his balls. Any other night, he would have put the scroll down and gone at it but he was sharing the room. Iolaus was still out partying with the Athenian delegation, there was no telling when Iolaus would be back. So he’d stop and tuck the sheet back tight around his waist. He could wait. It was frustrating, but he could wait.

Just at the part in the story where Odysseus was trying to rescue his men from the Isle of Aeaea, (Circe wasn’t someone you wanted to piss off) Hercules folded up the book and blew out the lamp.

On the verge of drifting off, he heard the door open and someone slip across the room. There was a soft thud on the floor beside the bed and someone got into the other side. Then someone stole the blanket and someone put their bare feet on the back of his legs and he knew it wasn’t Iolaus—Iolaus valued his life.

“Iphicles! Get your damned feet off of me, they’re like ice.”

“Quiet.” Iphicles, nearly breathless, almost shoved him off the bed. He shoved back. The tussle was getting heated when there was a tap on the door.

“Your majesty?” A soft voice called and a dim light intruded into the chamber. “Are you in here?” The flickering light grew brighter

“Don’t rat me out.” The king’s majesty of Corinth tried to dive under Hercules’ marginally bigger body.

He sat up, shielding Iphicles, as a woman with a tiny oil lamp slipped into the room.

“Prince Hercules!” She stopped, surprised but not sounding disappointed. “I didn’t realize this was your room.”

“Yes.”

She was protecting the dancing flame with her hand but it was enough for him to identify the Spartan ambassador’s seventeen-year old wife. He’d noticed her at dinner, admiring Iphicles the way a cobra admires a flute. But what, in Zeus’s name, was she doing taking a risk like this? There should have been two guards at the end of this hall and two on the stairs. It would be all over the palace before morning.

“I thought I saw the king come in here.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her gaze scorched his chest heading south.

He grabbed hold of the sheet and covered himself. “Was there something you wanted?”

A muffled snort had him cursing his ineptitude with women. He didn’t need Iphicles poking him in the back to tell him it was an idiot question.

“I thought I saw the king come in here. I was hoping this was the library. He has some very interesting ideas on protective tariffs that I’d love to talk to him about.” Her eyes were focused on what was beneath his hands. “Do you take an interest in the balance of trade?”

“No!” He responded to the airy quality of her voice. “Iphicles has the brains in the family. I just got the—”

 “I see.” She licked her parted lips and took a step closer.

“The library’s at the end of the corridor. Iphicles does like to be private there.” Desperately he gave ‘private’ a little verbal spin.

“It’s nice and private in here.”

This girl took the bird in hand approach to stalking.

“Not for long,” he said desperately. “Iolaus could be back at any time.”

“Who?” she said.

“My partner. Short. Blond. Jealous. He could walk in any moment now, and, seeing you, he’d jump to all the wrong conclusions.” He hoped he sounded convincing because Iphicles’ hands were between his thighs and the king’s fingers were as cold as the king’s feet. “Think of the scandal.”

“Oh!” The expression on her face became a mixture of calculation and lust. _Zeus_, he thought, _was she actually excited by the idea?_ “Does King Iphicles know about…?”

Behind him, it seemed the king had found something warmer than his fingers to slip between Hercules’ thighs.

“No.” He gritted his teeth. “And I could—I mean, _it would_ shatter him.”

“I heard you wife died. Maybe, you just need to meet…” She was coming closer and Iphicles was shoving hard from behind.

_“Oh, Zeus’s balls are forged of iron and Ares’ balls are cast in brass…”_

Everyone froze. Out in the hall, a few late revelers were caroling a popular tavern ditty.

_“…and when he comes, blue lightning shoots out of his ass.” _

As the song faded, it looked like the girl had finally remembered what happened to Spartan wives who get caught. Spartan men took their masculine prerogatives seriously and, in Hercules’ experience, not one of them had a sense of humor.

“Guess I should go.” She smiled sweetly, hungrily, and twiddled two fingers at him. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret.”

He twiddled back. And as carefully as she’d slipped in, she slipped out, taking the light with her.

“Iphicles,” he said in the dark.

“Gods, let her get away before you start roaring. Want to ruin my reputation too?” A thumb and a forefinger gave his left nipple a warning tweak.

It was quiet out in the hall. Very quiet.

Then Iphicles snorted and Hercules buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle his own laughter. “So help me,” he said when he’d gotten his breath back. “If you weren’t the king...”

“Ha! Are you going to tell Iolaus what everyone will be saying about him in Sparta?”

“No. It’ll double his chances for a date next time we’re there.” He sat up, intending to go check the hall. (Where were the damn guards who should have been patrolling out there, anyway?) “Iphicles, if you don’t stop pulling this crap—”

His head was pulled around. Lips blindly searched his face and a leather-clad leg slid over his thigh. Solidly distracted, he fell back with his hand on the back Iphicles’ head to guide him down.

A hot tongue filled his mouth for a long time until Iphicles broke the kiss, saying, “I hope you weren’t about to threaten me, ‘cause that would be treason. But, under the circumstances, I forgive you.” Then Iphicles went back to limning his mouth with velvet and giving kisses for all the sensitive places on his jaw. Hercules groaned as he cock swelled against Iphicles’ belly. He protested when the pressure was suddenly gone.

“Hush, babe, I’m not going anywhere. Let me…” the voice was momentarily muffled, “get out of this monkey suit.”

Metal and leather were hitting the floor when Hercules remembered what substance there’d been to the lie he’d told the Spartan girl. “Iolaus will be back.”

“No. My spies tell me he’s spending the night elsewhere.” Thighs straddled him. “Sorry you guys had to share, but with all these delegations to house.”

“I would have co....” He surrendered to the sensation of hands caressing his cock against another of equal hardness.

“I got tired of waiting.” Iphicles’ voice sounded far away in the dark. “Blew off that meeting with Epidocles and his damn accountants—then that little honey almost caught me.” Iphicles’ hands kept their rhythmic stroking. “At least she got an eyeful of you. She won’t feel like she wasted the money bribing my guards.”

“Iphicles!”

“Herc, don’t pretend to be naïve. Her husband probably handed her the denars and shoved her out the door. Even you must have noticed how many ambassadors have nubile young daughters, pretty sisters and adorable nieces and all them on their way to school this month. That one was a baby even if she almost cornered me in the garden after breakfast. I was wanting you so badly, if Enceladus hadn’t been on the ball, she might have wound up with her heels in the air.”

“She’s married!” Hercules growled, thrusting harder.

“So? She’s young.” Iphicles laughed. “And Androgeus is a little too Spartan. When I leaned over to initial some documents last night, he copped a feel. Diplomatically, I can’t kill him until after the ceremony tomorrow night.”

“Does everyone think Corinth’s prize stud is fair game.”

“Studs. That was you I saw hiding behind some potted palms this afternoon, wasn’t it?

“Yes.” He pulled Iphicles’ head down and buried his face in his hair. “Jason didn’t mention all the duties when he offered you the job, did he?”

“No. Most of the time I can deal with it. Even use it. I just wish…” The rhythm of Iphicles’ hands slowed.

 “It’s your birthday. Want me to thump anyone?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Iphicles was still. “You know, I’d give anything to go riding.”

Sometime Iphicles thought he was half centaur.  Hercules confined himself to saying, “Your guard would shit bricks.” He would have wrapped Iphicles in his arms and held him but he was being kissed again. When he could, he said, “Let me help you.”

“You’re here.” Iphicles paused. “What else would you do for me, little brother?”

“Anything.” The rough, demanding tone in Iphicles’ thrilled him, but he said it.

“Anything?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t control shiver up his spine as Iphicles touched a finger to his lips, commanding silence.

“Let’s pretend.” The words were a spell. “Let’s pretend there’s a king who wants to go riding.” Thighs pressed his lightly and a hand stroked his head. “He has a tawny stallion in his stable. And all the mares twitch their tails, hoping he’ll mount them.” Hercules’ cock throbbed. “They all want that huge prick. Some of them will get it. But this stallion is so powerful, only the king rides it.”

Instructed by pressure on his thighs, Hercules rolled over. The pillows got in the way and he shoved them off the bed.

“Hey, we’ll need those.” Laughing, Iphicles snagged the last one before it flew off into the dark.

An arm under his hip urged his ass up and the pillow was slipped under. His shaft and balls were stroked until he bucked and lifted his head wailing, “Iph—!”

Two sharp quick smacks left his haunches stinging.

“Patience, my stallion.” Iphicles nuzzled in his hair as Iphicles’ cock nuzzled the cleft of his ass. Iphicles whispered. “The king broke that stallion and he only responds to the king’s prod.”

Knees shoved between his legs, wedged them apart. Fingers found his center. Touched his heart. He shuddered but was quiet. “Good boy.” He rolled his hips, raising his head like a proud horse and received another kiss. His tongue was pulled between his lips and sucked but all his awareness was for the fingers massaging and probing him. He whimpered. “Hush.”

There was a fumbling on the night stand. The oil in the lamp would have cooled. A greasy finger slipped inside him and he bucked again but a hand held him down as the finger worked in and out, greasing and stretching. It was a painful pleasure and he couldn’t help the ragged sounds he was making. He couldn’t help pushing back when Iphicles found the particular spot inside him. Or crying when the fingers were gone and there was the soft satin sound of Iphicles anointing himself. If he could have spoken, he would have begged Iphicles not to take all day. But he was the king’s stallion. Waiting for the prod. Only the king rode him. He was too powerful for any other rider.

There was blunt pressure as he was mounted. Slowly, Iphicles took him. His muscles locked around the prod. He broke into a sweat as his body struggled to accept even so welcome an invasion. He shivered and hands gentled him, stroking his flanks, his thighs and his ass. His cock was drawn from the root to the tip. The slit fingered. Wetness spread. In spite of what must be an urgent need to thrust, Iphicles rubbed his face slowly against Hercules’ back, a courteous rider waiting for the horse to tell him when it was time to gallop.

As his muscles relaxed, Hercules rocked his hips.

At that signal, the prod was pulled out of him and thrust in again. Over and over, hard and deep. It was good to be ridden. Hercules struggled to his hands and knees, open to every thrust that was offered him. He was whipped. Wet skin slapped his ass with the sound like a crop on leather. He was surrounded by the smell of musk and sweat. His rider’s hand flew up and down on his cock and pressure gathered at the root. The thrusts were coming short and too fast for him to hold on, yet he must.

His rider suddenly went still, shuddering against him. A hot flower bloomed in his gut as the king poured seed into him and, it seemed through him. His ass began to pulse and he was coming too. He collapsed, ass still throbbing, Iphicles was still covering him, hips pumping. The prod thrust into him again. Crying out, he obeyed and came again.

When he could hear, Iphicles was still holding him, laughing quietly to himself. Hercules smiled at the sound. “What?”

“What would you do, if I asked you to stay?”

He choked.

Sensing he’d gone too far, Iphicles kissed the spot behind his ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

They lay, each in his own silence—until Hercules wriggled.

“Stop that,” Iphicles ordered.

“I’m in the wet spot.” He gave a little bounce. “Will you move? It’s cold.”

Iphicles snuggled tighter. “But you’re nice and warm.”

“Then quit dribbling.”

“Selfish.”

“It’s my bed.”

“It’s my palace.”

At that, Hercules rolled over with Iphicles yelling, “You’re pushing!” Not even near falling but Hercules grappled him to his side. They kissed. That was how thy fell asleep, with their legs braided together, but it was Hercules who lay awake longest, listening to the deep regular sound of Iphicles’ breathing before sleep claimed him.

_The fire rose searing his lungs. The flames crackled. He could smell his own skin burning, but it was a passage through the pain. Outside the circle of the fire, someone was calling…_“Herc, you’re dreaming.”

“What…?” He woke with his heart pounding and realized where he was poised on the edge of the bed. Iphicles’ hand was on his shoulder to keep him from going off. He turned and scrunched the pillow under his head, letting his heart beat slow.

“The same one?” Iphicles asked. “You sure it’s just a dream?”

“Yes. What are you doing?” He didn’t want to see what would be in Iphicles eyes and there were sheets of parchment and waxed tablets spread out on the bed. The thump he’d heard beside the bed last night had been a lap case.

“Getting work done. Between the damn birthday hoo-haa and the constant meetings, I’m falling behind on the day to day.” Iphicles may be have blown off the accountants but he’d brought the accounts with him. “Now I know why Jason really wanted out of the job, ‘cause if it weren’t for the honor of the thing…” Iphicles chose another tablet, read what was on it and reached for something to scribble with. Not wanting to talk was one thing but he dream had left him oppressed and filled with a sense of urgency. He touched Iphicles’ shoulder and Iphicles responded by ruffling his hair, picking up a stylus and beginning to write. Subduing his feelings, Hercules let the king work.

“There’s a town called Tacomas,” Iphicles was saying. “Near the Calydonian border. They want to dam the river but the village of Censas, upstream, will be flooded. The region needs the dam, and I’m trying to figure out how long it will take the revenues from it to cover the cost of relocating the village and payback the loan. And the whole thing is complicated by the fact that Ares’ oldest temple in the province is located near Censas. We’re going to have to do something to placate him—” Hercules winced “—or the damned rapacious priest who presides there. It amounts to the same thing.”

Despite the rough start of his reign and the depression he’d plunged into on Rena’s death, the last two years had seen Iphicles come into his own, wielding his power with intelligence and a compassionate courage that Hercules recognized complemented his own. Iphicles had even begun, occasionally, to ask for the help he’d resented Hercules foisting on him in the past. But there was little time for the two of them.

When the pen halted and the tablet sagged as Iphicles considered some point, he took them away and leaned on Iphicles when he tried to take it back. “Don’t you want your birthday presents?”

“Presents? Where? You’ve been holding out on me Herc.” Iphicles’ voice was suspicious. “Mother sent honey cakes, didn’t she. You ate them, didn’t you.”

“Not all.” He laughed at the expression on Iphicles’ face and got out of bed. Scooping up the pillows that littered the floor, he began tossing them at Iphicles, making a dance out it, flaunting his body.

Iphicles laughed and shagged them back, bombarding him until he went to the chest by the door and got the packages. When he flopped back on the bed, Iphicles, with a sure instinct, grabbed the one Alcmene had prepared, tore it open and the sweet smell of honey cakes flooded the room.

Hercules’ mouth was watering but he waited for Iphicles’ offer to share—a hand motion and some noises that might have been ‘help your self’ if his mouth hadn’t been full— before grabbing one of the diamond shaped cakes. They were stuffed with their mother’s honey cake, and Iphicles had checked out the shirt she’d embroidered and the enameled belt buckle that was Jason’s present, before he gave Iphicles his own present.

“Not as impressive as that set of boar spears the Spartans gave you yesterday.” He referred to one of Iphicles’ more ostentatious gifts.

“But you forged it, didn’t you.” Eyes glowing with pleasure, Iphicles tried the sharkskin grip and stroked the edge of the new hunting knife along his forearm. “Thanks for not arguing with me last night.”

“I should have. Iphicles, I can’t be here all the time and you can’t…”

“Don’t start!” Iphicles covered Hercules’ mouth, “The risks are part of the job and you didn’t want it.”

“That’s not fair!” he said. “And you don’t have to make it worse by giving your guard the slip at every opportunity.” Seeing strain in the cords defining the column of Iphicles’ neck, he stopped. “I’m sorry.” He took knife from Iphicles and put at the foot of the bed with the other gifts. “Seriously, if you won’t take a vacation let me do something for you.”

“You liked being my stallion!” Suddenly, Iphicles was grinned at him.

Hercules ducked his head in embarrassment. “You know I meant with the administrative stuff!” Iphicles kept grinning. “Yes,” he admitted and Iphicles pulled him into his arms. Lips brushed his collarbone, pressing hard at the base his neck, drawing heat. “Iph—” He protested. “The sun’s coming up...”

“There, I’ve branded you.” The suction eased. “At least you and I will know whose mount you are.” Iphicles’ mouth closed on his and they were rocking back and forth. He rolled on top, pressing as tightly as he could, and Iphicles’ hand was there mating their cocks to each other.

They rocked, hard until, in a sudden still moment of shared breath, Iphicles was jerking against him and he felt the hot gush splatter his stomach he came over Iphicles’ hand. Then Iphicles’ fingers were in his mouth and he was tasting the strong salty flavor of their mingled seed. He licked and sucked and paid Iphicles back by poking his tongue deep into Iphicles’ mouth, until they were choking with laughter. Then silent.

It was that heavy quiet time of night turning to dawn. Out in the hall were the early morning sounds of servants beginning to collect night slops.

Drowsy again, he lay back and watched the cool light of morning creep into the room. Iphicles sat up. His lips were swollen from their kisses. There was the shadow of morning beard and copper curls, black with sweat, were swept back from his forehead. Hercules reached up and rubbed his thumb across Iphicles cheek.

“What’s the matter?” Iphicles said.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I just wish…have you thought of getting married again?”

“We’re not having this discussion. I told you, don’t start—ouch!” One of the scrolls had slipped under the sheet. Iphicles retrieved it and glanced at it. Something caught his attention. “Fuck,” Iphicles said. “That town I told you about, Censas, that’s going to be flooded. They’re begging for help on another matter. One of those wild boars down from Calydonia is plaguing the area.”

Hercules subsided. The king was present and there was no arguing with him.

“This could be golden opportunity to flash the crown and let them know the king cares. Looks like the usual.” Iphicles read the indictment out. “Countryside ravaged, crops ruined, virgins despoiled—” Iphicles raised an eyebrow at that one, then went pale. He said, “There’s something you can do for me, after all.”

“What?”

“It killed a baby.” Iphicles reached for his stylus. “I’ll send Orion and the hounds this morning, but you go with them and make sure it’s dead.”

“Iphicles!”

“Today!” Iphicles looked at him, but wasn’t seeing Hercules. “Whether you like it or not, things are under control here.”

“You won’t…?”

“No, Mother—I’ll stay safely indoors until the treaty’s signed.”

“All right.” Hercules gave in.

“You can try out those fancy new spears the Spartans gave me,” Iphicles offered to placate him.

He wasn’t quite willing to be placated. “Don’t you want to save them for a special occasion?”

“No. This way, now I can tell Androgeus I’ve got some use for at least one of his weapons.”

“You’re shameless.”

“True. But—”

“Herc, you decent? I’m coming in.” Iolaus bounded into the room with too much energy for that time of the morning. “Can’t you guys smell the bacon from up here? I’m starved.”

 

* * *

 

When Hercules fell, Iolaus thought, _This isn’t happening, _

He dropped to his knees. Hercules was no light weight and it took an effort to roll him over. When he did, Iolaus could see how white Hercules’ lips were hear how ragged his breathing. Iolaus seized Hercules’ hand, relieved to find a thready pulse until he saw the puncture wound, Hercules had dismissed earlier, swollen and inflamed. “Oh, Zeus! The spear was poisoned!” Iolaus looked at Ares. “Do something.”

Ares had scowled in offended surprise as Hercules fell and squatted down naked, sucking on his hand, to study him curiously “You want me to thank the person who did it?”

“No! Help him. He’s your brother,” Iolaus said.

“So?”

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No. Have I failed to make that clear somehow?”

“Zeus won’t let you get away with it.” Iolaus cradled Hercules’ head in his lap, stroking his neck.

“What is it with you people?” Ares said. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Who’s going to believe _you_?” Iolaus pointed out. “There’s the evidence.”

He pointed to where Ares had flung the weapon—and stared—the shaft was smoking. Then it was consumed. Together, god and mortal, watched it turn to gray ash in blue flame. And, in a dreamy voice, Ares said, “There goes your evidence.”

Iolaus gaped in horror as Ares giggled and put his hand in his mouth again. Disregarding the possibly lethal consequences, he grabbed hold of it, turned it over and saw the oozing wound. “You’ve been poisoned too. Help us or you’ll never find out who did it.”

“Don’t have to.” Ares took his hand back and rocked on his heels, insufferably pleased with himself.

Iolaus was speechless with rage.

Then Ares, giggling again, poked at Hercules’ neck. A lurid oval splotch on Hercules’ throat, the shape of a lover’s kiss, had attracted his attention. “You do that?”

“What? No!”

“Then who’s he been snogging with?”

“You pig!” Iolaus was livid. “What does that matter? Why do you care?”

“I want to know who to send my condolences to.” As Iolaus took another breath, Ares suddenly sat back and pressed his hands to his forehead. “Oh! Don’t yell, my head hurts.”

 “More than your head is going to hurt if you don’t help him.” Iolaus roared. “I’ll tell Zeus you did it!”

Big mistake.

Ares’ face turned black and hairy and his eyes got red again as he leaned back gathering enough energy in his hand to blast Iolaus to dust.

With nothing left to lose, he let Hercules’ head drop in the dirt and grabbed Ares by the shoulders. “You selfish pig! Somebody’s poisoned Zeus’s most powerful sons! Look at yourself, you’re the god of war and you can’t even help yourself.”

As though from a distance, he realized he was shaking the god of war and let go, but he couldn’t stop yelling. “Somebody’s making a fool out of you! Are you going to let them get away with it? If Hercules dies, I’ll see you get the blame and spend the rest of eternity in Tartarus—with me!”

The louder he got, the more Ares bent over, with both arms wrapped around his head until he was nearly touching the ground. When he’d run out breath, Ares looked up and Iolaus thought _I’m a dead man_.

But something had, apparently, gotten through the god’s pain and monumental ego. His skin was beaded with sweat, but for the first time since assuming a human shape, Ares’ eyes were dark and held something like their usual malicious humor. “All right, Blondie. Just don’t shout,” he panted. “I’ll help him. But you have to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Iolaus promised—his best friend was dying on the ground in front of him. “I’ll give you my word.”

Ares lurched up to one knee, pulling Hercules by an arm to sitting position then over his shoulder. He stood wobbling, then steadied.

Iolaus scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing? ”

“Jerkules is only half a god, I can’t move him any other way,” Ares sounded as disgusted as he looked. “And here’s the deal, I save Jerkules’ life. _My_ word on it. You find out who gave him that hickey. Now let’s move it, short stuff, it’s getting late.”

“Where are you taking him?”

“Corinth, unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Ares took a step and Iolaus could see fresh blood from the spear wound dappling the back of the his legs. He said, “Ares.”

The god turned. “What?”

“Don’t you want to put some clothes on?”

Ares’ his lip curled, showing an astonishing number of teeth. With Herc’s life on the line, Iolaus decided not to press the issue. He watching Ares stumble forward and thought about what had just happened and the deal he’d just made. That the spears had been poisoned was clear and whoever was behind it was dangerous—very dangerous—if they had access to something powerful enough to harm not just a demigod but an Olympian. Even with Ares help, was Herc going to live? And if he lived, was he going to die of embarrassment? He’d sat next to Herc at dinner last night. That mark hadn’t been there. And, while he hadn’t actuallyseen Iphicles press that tender mouth of his to the smooth brown skin of Hercules’ throat, when he burst in on them this morning, the acrid smell of semen had been in the air. _Fuck all gods._ Then it occurred to him, of all the gods, why should Ares care?

 

 

TBC

 


	2. Ares Does Iphicles

The hike back to Corinth had to have been the worst afternoon of Iolaus’ life. Any doubt that Ares was faking the effects of the poison was dismissed—appearing weak was the last thing Ares would have tolerated, and yet here he was, sweating and stumbling under Hercules’ weight. Several times, he dropped to his knee with Hercules’ body draped over his shoulder and when he stood, it was with effort. The third time, Iolaus insisted on taking Hercules’ legs, he found it telling that Ares didn’t argue, and they managed the burden between them.

Luckily, by the time they reached Corinth, it was dark. Luckily, because the other thing that had occupied Iolaus was how he was going to get their little procession into the palace? Unless Ares wanted to be seen, no one saw him, but given the condition he was in and that no godly cloak of invisibility had never protected Hercules, it wasn’t worth taking a chance on. They looked like a trio of stumbling drunks. Okay, he could use that.

Passing a nag someone had parked, Iolaus stole the horse’s blanket. Then left Ares and Hercules huddling under it, like a pair of lovers, in the shadows close to the portcullis, while he negotiated with a pair of guards he knew.

Enceladus and Amycus were good friends. But not friendly enough to risk a court martial, when he asked to be secretly admitted.

“You’re out of you flax beatin’ mind!” Enceladus spoke for both of them and, as a corporal, had enough rank to be rude. “Go in the front with the rest of the herd.”

“I can’t,” Iolaus said.

“Why not?”

“Herc’s drunk.” Iolaus nodded toward the blessed dark. “You want the gang from Athens to see the king’s brother like that?”

Amycus strained to see into the dark. Enceladus shrugged, it wasn’t his problem. “I heard you guys left?”

“We came back.”

Amycus leaned over and whispered in Enceladus’s ear. “Who’s that with him?” Enceladus passed on the question.

It was what Iolaus had feared. “A friend.”

Amycus leaned over and whispered again.

“His friend or yours or do you take turns?”

“Iphicles’!” Iolaus snapped as the two sniggered.

“Get lost.” Enceladus said. “We got so many females on heat prowling around this place, Iph’s balls are bluer than a Cyclops’s eye.”

“So, she’s an old girlfriend. Give the poor guy a break.”

“Kiss my—” Amycus nudged him and Enceladus said, “You telling the truth?”

“Guys, I swear, she’s an old friend of Iphicles. He knew her back in Thebes”

“So, if we get court-martialed, are you gonna support my wife, my four kids and my girl?”

“Not the goats.”

“Swear on your balls.”

Iolaus put his hand over his testicles and swore.

He swore again when they jacked him out of ten denars.

Then it was through the guard’s door, up the stairs, down the halls and up more stairs to the king’s rooms at the top with Iolaus silently thanking the Kindly Ones when they met no more of Iphicles’ devoted servants on the way. The two he’d paid off weren’t going to risk a lucrative post by talking but they’d cleaned him out.

Fortunately, the palace, like many post-Minoan palaces with strong Mycenaean influence, was the next best thing to a labyrinth. What had started as a simple Doric edifice had been piled on by successive kings anxious to display their status. Iolaus had been playing in its more obscure passages since Hector was a pup and they were able to avoid the main corridors until they had to pop out near Iphicles’ suite. Fortunately, Iphicles personal guard was with him in the dining hall. Still, it wasn’t until they were in the office and found it empty, with the candles lit for Iphicles’ return, that he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just a few more steps,” he urged as Ares staggered on the uneven stones. “The queen’s rooms are through here—watch the hanging! Put him on the bed.”

Iolaus knew he’d have been just as happy to drop Hercules on the floor. The most annoying attribute the God of War possessed, his bloody single-minded stubbornness, was all that had kept him going. But the god’s silence had begun to scare him. Tired and sick, did not sit well on Ares.

They dropped Hercules on the bed and Ares, swaying with exhaustion, looked down at the demigod as though he weren’t quite sure who was lying there. Iolaus took one of his hands, the grubby wounded one, shocked at how cold it felt. “Thank you,” he said, trying to convey some of the emotion he felt. “I’ll find us some wine.”

Ares jerked his hand back, curled his lip and stalked out of the room. Iolaus’ knees suddenly went weak and he sat down next to Hercules. “I must be suicidal today. When you’re better, we’ll go to Asclepius’s temple and get my head examined.”

He should go look for wine. They all needed it. There’d been too many moments that afternoon when he’d feared Hercules dead—no living person could be that white and still be breathing. But it was as though his brain had shut down; he needed to collect himself.

“‘olaus…”

Hercules’ eyes were open—a blue flicker. His lips were moving—the slightest motion. They were most beautiful signs Iolaus thought he’d ever seen. He brushed some of the matted, hair from Hercules’ forehead with a shaking hand. “It’s going to be all right,” he promised. “But you can’t go around scaring me like this.”

“…’m sick?” Hercules tried to move.

“No. No, you’ve been poisoned.” Iolaus held him, frightened at how easy it was. “It’s going to be all right.”

“No, ‘m goin’ be sick.”

Iolaus barely had time to roll him over before he was—violently and repeatedly and Iolaus held him until it was over.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get you cleaned up.” Coarse strands of hair brushed his lips as Iolaus rubbed his face against the back of Hercules’ head. He held him as he had during the paroxysms, trying to impart warmth to the cold body and spoke more to comfort himself than Hercules. “Good thing that didn’t happen sooner, I don’t think Ares could deal.”

The tapestry over the door was raised and, for a moment, Iolaus thought Ares had returned. Then he realized it was Iphicles. The king’s right hand was out of sight and Iolaus didn’t doubt there was a knife in it. “Is he alive?” Iphicles said.

“Yes.”

“When I first walked in, it smelled like some Parthian pig farmer might be about to get lucky. Then, I heard your voice…”

And Iolaus had been worried about Hercules dying of embarrassment—when Iphicles had walked in, he’d found Iolaus embracing his lover. Iolaus started to rise, he was at the end of his tether but this wasn’t the moment to forget that the king had spent 15 years as a mercenary before he married the Phlagran heiress. Or how jealous he could be.

“Iphicles…”

“They told me the you two had gone on alone.” Iphicles’ eyes, glinting amber in the candlelight, never left Hercules’ face as he came closer. “What happened?”

“The spears were poisoned.”

“Who knows this?” Iolaus could see the blade now—it was the one Hercules had made for his birthday. Iphicles’ knuckles were clenched on the sharkskin hilt.

“I told Enceladus and Amycus at the gate, that he was drunk and they let us in by the side. Nobody saw us coming up. I’ve got to get him cleaned up—water, towels, maybe some wine…”

“You stay here. I’ll get them.”

Then Iphicles was gone and, with shaking hands Iolaus, started removing Hercules’ clothing. He’d gotten the leather pants undone and was tugging off the sodden shirt when he heard, _‘Iolaus!’_ It was Iphicles voice. Furious and emphatic, but not _too_ loud. _‘Get in here!’_

Iolaus ran.

There was an alcove off the main room and Iphicles was hovering over the bed in it. On his face was an amalgam of panic and awe. “Is that what I think it is?”

‘That’ was Ares sprawled out and snoring on the bed’s red wool cover. During the long hike, the last signs of the animal had gone, leaving him dirty, bloody, smelly, naked and splendidly male. A goblet had tumbled from his slack fingers.

“Oh, thank Zeus. Considering what he’s been doing for pregnant women in the provinces lately, it’s a good thing he isn’t wandering the palace in that condition.”

“What’s going on?” Iphicles was looking at him as though he’d gone mad. All things taken into account, it might be true.

“He brought Hercules home.”

“_He_ brought Hercules home?”

“Yeah, he touched the spear too.” Iolaus knew his mouth had to be stretched in a very peculiar smile. Any minute now he was going to start laughing—or screaming. “Don’t worry. He’ll probably just go ‘poof’ at some point. Anything we can cover him with?”

Iphicles got a blanket from a chest against the wall and they tucked it around the sleeping god. “You’re going to explain this,” Iolaus was informed.

“Oh, yes. But later. Okay?” He sighed, leaned over and pushed a tousled black curl away from Ares’ face. “He did a good thing today, and he’s going to hate himself in the morning.”

 

* * *

After sending his guard in search of more towels, Iphicles and Iolaus had appropriated the ones from the commode as well as the ewer.

Between them, they had considerable experience dressing wounds and performing rough battlefield surgery. But tonight, Hercules had required a different sort of nursing. Repeatedly, he’d woken from stuporous dozing to bouts of retched sickness.

For several hours, it had taken both of them to keep him clean, dry and warm. There’d been times he didn’t know where he was or who they were. He fought them. Hercules was a demigod; Iphicles had a wrenched shoulder from trying to hold him down and he suspected Iolaus would be sitting funny for a week after trying to force willow-bark tea down Hercules’ throat. It hadn’t been something Iphicles wanted to try.

Eventually, the worst of it passed—Hercules had fallen into a deep sleep and the two of them were able to take a break. Iolaus, exhausted, was resting now on an improvised pallet in Rena’s room. But Iphicles, stripped to a damp shirt and breeches, sat at his desk, drinking.

Hot wine is supposed to hit you faster and harder and there was more, but he could tell it wasn’t in his stars to get drunk tonight. Not drunk enough to forget his brother had just survived a murder attempt—or the god of war was sacked out on his bed.

Iphicles put the goblet down, slouched back and put his feet on the desk. There were times he loved being king but this wasn’t one of them: ask for hot spiced wine and willow-bark tea, and they’ll bring them—along with the court physician, the priest from Asclepius’s temple and a soothsayer too. He’d had to threaten to toss all them in the dungeon if they don’t take their damned nattering out of his face. They’d gone but he’d be paying for it.

But by morning, it would be all over the palace that he’d had a headache. Everyone would be looking at him sideways at breakfast, trying to calculate his temperature. By noon, it would be all over city that he had a fever. By the end of the week, up on the Parthian border, it would be a fact that the king of Corinth was dying.

There was a board game near his foot. He gave one of the blue glass pieces a tap. It rolled out of position clicking against one of the white pieces that tapped another in turn. There would be incursions. Athens would see to it.

_Fuck._ Two weeks ago, he’d just gone for a ride. But someone had known and someone had told someone. A knife had come out of nowhere almost putting an end to all this. They still hadn’t discovered who’d tried to ambush him.

Looked for a pen to make a note reminding himself to send word to his commander in the north that he was alive he discovered a stick of red sealing wax in a drawer and considered using it to stain some blotches on his skin. It would clear the place out if he pretended to come down with the plague. But he wasn’t going to do it, no matter how much fun it might be.

Iolaus way lying on the pallet next to the bed Hercules was sleeping in. Iphicles could see, from where he was sitting,  their faces illuminated by the candlelight and Iolaus reach up and touch Hercules’ cheek. The pen between Iphicles’ fingers snapped.

He went to the doorway and pulled the tapestry cover down from its hook.

Iolaus sat. “I don’t have to stay here.”

“Don’t get up.”

“Iphicles?

“Get some sleep. You and_—_” he shied away from naming the god “—saved his life today. Call me if you need anything. Um’ll probably go ‘poof’ soon, like you said and I’ve got to figure out how to deal with this.”

He hated the look Iolaus gave him as he dropped the tapestry. Sometimes, he felt as though he were transparent and the whole world could read his heart. But would Iolaus be so understanding if he’d known what Iphicles was thinking when he’d walked into that room tonight and seen him embracing Hercules’?

No one had slept there since his wife had died, two years ago. The bed Iphicles had set up in the alcove during her final days, had stayed in the alcove. Whatever people said, it wasn’t loyalty to Rena’s memory, much as he’d loved her. Hades, she’d have been the first person to call him an idiot and tell him to go get laid before he bit someone’s head off.

Anytime in the last two weeks he and Hercules could have slept together in that room, or in the bed in the alcove, instead of waiting and slipping through the halls at night to snatching hurried, sweaty moments. If they had, he wouldn’t be feeling like this. _That’s your first response to anything isn’t it—guilt. The truth is, you like slipping through the halls…you like that he’ll stay and wait and put up with you…especially, you like those sweaty moments. _He’d thought if he could keep this thing between Hercules and himself just between the two of them, he wouldn’t have to face the fact that it had to end_. Grow up Iphicles! If he’d slept here, he might have left earlier and you might have gone riding again and maybe Corinth would be without a damned good king because some assassin would be collecting the reward for your head right now._

He thought about his funeral and smiled, imagining the procession with keening mourners, the sacrifices, the libations, the ashes—the look on Hercules’ face when he woke up and discovered he was going to be king. He leaned back and put his feet up. _Serve you right, baby brother, for making me clean up after you again. I thought you’d out grown ‘that’ at least. _

At that, he laughed out loud—and someone said, “What’s so funny?”

Lost in his fantasy, he hadn’t noticed how the air had become charged as it does before a thunderstorm. Now it seemed to be moving; a current was definitely flowing from someplace behind his left shoulder. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Slowly, he put his feet on the floor and turned to face the god of war. “I was thinking,” he said, “that I didn’t appreciate my mother nearly enough.”

“Your mother?” Ares was sitting in bed, holding his head and scraping his hands through his hair. “Your mother?” He repeated, looking at Iphicles out of red rimmed eyes. “Who in Tartarus are you?”

“The King of Corinth.”

The god squinted. “My mongrel brother’s…?”

“Yes,” Iphicles snapped. “And you are?”

“The God of War.” Ares parodied him.

“One of my mongrel brother’s other…?”

If the pit of Tartarus had opened at his feet, Iphicles couldn’t have resisted, but for a moment, he was sure it had been a fatal indulgence. But, despite the smoking look he threw, Ares didn’t flash fry him on the spot. Iphicles risked asking, “Would you like a drink?”

“What do you think, little king?”

Filling his own gold goblet from a ewer, Iphicles brought it to him.

Ares grabbed it from his hand and drank if off, then looked in disbelief at Iphicles and spat on the floor. “You’re not keen to live, little king. Are you trying to poison me too?”

“Iolaus told me you had a headache. That helps.”

“Let me put that on the list of things I owe Blondie for. Now get me some wine.” Oblivious to where the bitter tea splashed, Ares shoved the cup at Iphicles, threw the cover off and stood.

Iphicles couldn’t keep from staring. As impressive as he’d been flat on his back, upright Ares was more than Hercules’ equal. He had a head wreathed in thick black curls that softened the harsh angles of his skull and broad shoulders tapering down a well defined chest to narrow hips and powerful thighs. That expanse of flesh was broken by the pattern of dark textured hair that was like an arrow pointing at his impressive sex.

But it was the god’s face that fascinated him.

Despite their swollen rims, Ares’ eyes were large, dark and heavily lidded. The nose was short and sharp with the precise clip of his beard emphasizing that, as well as his high cheekbones and full pouting mouth.It was the most sensual face Iphicles had ever seen. That wasn’t what disturbed him—for yearshe’d heard the rumors and assumed they had their origin in human stupidity, complicated by the fact that both of them were Hercules’ brothers. Now he understood entirely too well. _Hercules should have told me._ No beard and the hair color was differentbut he saw those features every day in his own mirror.

 “Don’t let it go to your head.” Ares sneered. Maybe he didn’t care for the edition of his face that Iphicles wore.

Iphicles scowled. “No danger.”

Ares smirked. Then he went to Iphicles’ desk, pulled the great chair around and sat. “Where’s my wine?” he said.

A king may be a god’s most immediate servant but Iphicles resented pouring the cup again. Was that surly expression contempt on Ares’ face, as he examined the rooms? Curiosity? Calculation? What ever it was, Iphicles hoped it wasn’t going to kill them all.

Finished with his perusal, Ares looked at Iphicles. “Buried Jerkules yet?”

“No.”

Much as Iphicles wanted to say, thank you for saving Hercules’ life, he wasn’t going to betray Hercules’ condition to the son of his worst enemy. Ares was the god of war. For Corinth’s sake, he couldn’t afford to provoke so powerful an entity out of childish pique, but he was filled with furious resentment that sickened him with its familiarity. He must look sullen and ungrateful.

They regarded each other in a hostile and gravid silence. Ares’ expression was growing thunderous, and Iphicles took a deep breath, willing himself to calm speaking.

Too late.

“No danger, little king.” Ares repeated Iphicles’ words, making a gesture over the cup, and raised it to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he drank and Iphicles saw a thin trickle of ruby wine leak from the corner of his mouth. It ran down Ares’ chin, streamed over his throat and filled the hollow of a clavicle. Iphicles swallowed, imagining himself sipping the liquid where it pooled.

Ares continued drinking and the crimson pool overflowed. The wine cascaded down his breast, stained the muscular stomach, collected again in his navel and seeped further down. Horrified, Iphicles felt his cock throb and swell, standing just as Ares’ cock swelled and pointing, like Ares’ hand imperiously extended, demanding more wine when the cup was empty.

Dazed by the heat that was enveloping him, Iphicles filled it again.

When the second cup had gone the same way as the first, Ares sprawled in the chair. He threw a leg over an arm and thrust out his hips, flaunting the erection that towered over his wine soaked pubic hair and the glossy pouch of his balls. The phallus and sac were dusky red. A pearl beaded the tip of the shaft and Ares wiped it away with a lazy stroke of his hand, grinning at Iphicles. The creases beneath the balls would taste like the sweet wine that drenched them. Iphicles’ mouth was flooding and something was urging him to drop to his knees.

No danger, Ares had said, taking Iphicles’ defiance as a challenge.

And he wanted to abandon himself to the impulse that was growing stronger. Instead, he husked, “Do you want a robe?” _I’m king here. Damn if I’ll be intimidated by such simple arrogance._

The question got him a flicker of surprise.

“If you’d be more comfortable.” The god smiled, agreeably…lazily…stretching out his hand and pointing. “The black one.”

Iphicles didn’t own a black robe. But somehow, when he got the clothespress open after fumbling with the door, the robe was there. The wool it was made from was as dark and soft as night to his touch, and the edges were bound with a tape of red silk and gold thread. It exuded a subtle bitter musk that escaped like a fugitive when he tried to identify it.

He brought it to Ares who, nostrils flaring as though he relished the scent, stood and allowed it to be draped over his shoulders. When Ares turned the robe gaped and Iphicles could see the blunt wet tip of Ares cock protruding. Again, something pushed at him, stronger this time, compelling him to his knees. In his mind, Iphicles could see himself sucking that cock. He was so hard, himself it was making him dizzy.

There was that imperative shove again.

_No. _He took a step back, resisting.

If he could just get away, somewhere by himself, unlace his breeches, free his trapped cock and jerk off…spill himself…offer his seed to Ares. His hands were desperately working on the laces of his pants. His own thought had turned on himself and, in horror, he looked into Ares’ smirking face. So close he realized that, although Ares was taller than he was—it was a very slight difference.

With that fact, he regained some of his self-possession and stopped tugging on the laces, opening his mouth to yell for the guards just outside the door. Ares just shook his head and caught his hands. “You’re strong, but don’t waste your breath. No one can hear you.”

Entwining their finger, Ares stroked Iphicles hands over the wool that covered his breast and Iphicles could feel nipples, hard as wheat kernels, under the fabric.

Releasing one of Iphicles’ hands, Ares explored the front of Iphicles’ breeches, probing the leather-covered bulge there. With wide eyes and with a dirty chuckle, the god said, “Not such a littleking.” Iphicles felt as though his body were melting.

“Is this narcissism or some weird form of masturbation?”

It was hard to speak because his teeth were chattering.

“Does it matter when you want it so much?”

Iphicles agreed. Every sense affirmed it—the freezing heat on his skin, the bittersweet scent filling his head—he tried to breathe in more of the perfume, opened his mouth to try and taste it—Ares’ voice was an earthquake in his soul. “And, it seems, that I want you.”

Ares caught the back of his head and pulled him close, filling his mouth with a churning tongue that tasted of brass. Ares’ harsh breathing drowned every other sound and his hands ripped away Iphicles shirt and raked his back, leaving trails of fire.

With no weapons to combat the power that held him but he tried to pay back stroke for touch, scratch for scrape as they grappled. Ares’ nipples were twisted angrily between Iphicles’ fingers. He gouged and was bitten and discovered blood and coarse hair in his own mouth, perversely thrilled when Ares growled his approval.

He surrendered entirely to sensation. Their grappling, unequal as it was, continued until Ares tugged his breeches down poking and probing the opening of his body. The nerves in his ass began to sing. The god caught him as he stumbled, lifted him and ground their erections together. The soft wool kissed his thighs and Iphicles thrust franticly, confused as to whether he wanted to fuck or be fucked. Ares settled it by lifting him up in his arms and dropping him on the desk.

Candles, cups and ewers spilled on the floor. The game pieces. Iphicles could hear some of them smashing against the stones and others rolling away. A hand pumped his cock—once. He closed his eyes and tried to push in to it, but the god held him, stripped him and climbed on top of him, pinning him between his thighs. Naked, unable to move, Iphicles was entirely dependent on the god for the stimulation he craved and Ares tortured him with a slow hand.

Furious, he called down curses on Ares’ head, damning him to the blackest pits of Tartarus.

Ares only laughed and stuck a wet tongue in his ear, gnawed on the lobe and kept his hand on Iphicles’ cock moving to the same selfish rhythm. Iphicles threw his head back and called Ares the god of syphilitic goat-buggering assholes.

He got more laughter and deep wet kisses for his trouble.

Teeth pestered his throat and chewed on his teats. Not enough. He managed to free an arm and tried to push Ares’ head down where that mouth could do some real good. The stubborn head refused to budge. As Iphicles’ head tossed back and forth, he realized the god’s thumb was circling the sensitive place just under the slit of his prick, but there was a slick, intruding finger also making promises…_wet hardness slipping in and out—touching my heart. The god’s prick ramming deep into…_ Thunder and laughter rolled across his brain. “Say what you want, little king.”__

“Fuck me,” he howled, terrified but completely undone.

“Now that’s a prayer,” Ares purred. “Mortals should make more often.”

Fingers, greased by who knew what, slid deep inside and turned, stretching him. They found a spot that made his hips buck. The fingers were almost enough…just a little more, he pushed down straining harder. Then he was empty and Ares had let go of his cock. For a moment Iphicles thought he was going to be abandoned in this desert of consuming need.

But Ares pushed his legs apart and hooked beneath Iphicles’ knees, lifting and spreading him, exposing him as though he were an offering. Iphicles could feel the hot blunt tip of Ares’ sex nuzzling him like an animal until then it begin to push inside him. Then it hurt. Iphicles gasped.

“Look at me, little king,” Ares ordered.

He opened his eyes; shocked to find candles still burned somewhere in the room.

Teeth flashed with laughter. The robe had fallen off one of Ares’ shoulders and black curls were plastered to his forehead. Ares’ pupils so large the eyes were black. The god was as given to lust as the mortal. Iphicles reached to brush his thumb across the swollen rosy lower lip, pushing in a little at the corner. _Gods, is that what Hercules sees when we… _

Ares closed his eyes and sucked in Iphicles’ finger with a sideways flip of his head. Iphicles watched, fascinated, as the god nursed it, hot mouth working, tongue tip lapping and twining around it and probing at the nail.

You’d suck my cock just as sweetly, Iphicles thought finding another of those moments of chilling clarity, but that’s not what this is about for either of us, is it?

Ares opened his eyes and spit Iphicles’ thumb out of his mouth. Lifting Iphicles’ knees higher, opening him wider, Ares rammed his cock into Iphicles’ ass. Iphicles screamed as overstressed muscles contracted around the plundering shaft and he came until a velvet wave crashed over him and he couldn’t see the god’s laughing face any more.

Sensation returned slowly. First sound—the buzzing a hive of angry bees might make until that faded in his ears and he could hear his own breathing. Second, warmth—although the hand that explored his face, brushed away tears leaving icy streaks behind them. Then pleasure—his muscles still pulsed, releasing. But some of the charm the god had laid on him had passed—the smells that enveloped him were spiced wine and the pungent musk of male sex. He opened his eyes and saw Ares above him. The black robe had fallen off entirely and Ares’ chest was liberally decorated with milky ribbons of come.

“Ares.” His throat was raw; he remembered shrieking the god’s name.

“Glad to know who’s fucking whom, little king,” Ares said, hips flexing, pulling and pushing deep inside of Iphicles’ ass. Iphicles suspected he was going to ache in the morning. He didn’t mind; the thing that fucked him was too potent. The air seemed to be crackling around them.

“Let me see you come,” he begged not caring if he died, as long as he could see that.

Ares rose on his knees, lifting him, and began to thrust slowly. Iphicles grabbed hold of the edges of the desk. The world became the cock thrusting and he could feel every inch.

Ares was looking at where their bodies were joined. Iphicles could imagine the great ruddy shaft, glossy with oil and his juices disappearing into blazing heat.

Iphicles own cock wasn’t entirely spent. It responded by filling again although the muscles of his ass were throbbing with the strain.

Above him Ares’ body gleamed with sweat and his grip on Iphicles’ thighs was slipping. The strokes were coming short, quick, hard and Ares had started laughing, tossing his head back and forth. Suddenly, Ares’ arched, he yelled and a rush of heat filled Iphicles’ belly, bringing to climax again.

He didn’t blackout this time and his head was lifted his head as his cock erupted, spattering his face with his own hot seed.

At that Ares doubled over, burying his head in Iphicles’ stomach and gurgling like a drain as his cock slipped from Iphicles’ body

Iphicles didn’t mind, he’d fallen into such a deep sweet lassitude that all he wanted to do was stroke the soft curls tickling his stomach.

Ares looked up at his touch. “Do you always come like a thunderstorm, little king, and rain on everything?” Laughing again, Ares dabbed his fingers in drops of semen and sticking them in Iphicles’ mouth. He kept it up until Iphicles, tired of evading them and bit one of the sour tasting fingers.

“Now I know how Leda felt with that damned bird pecking at her.”

“What do you mean?” Ares yawned, jaw cracking, “I don’t do birds, I’m allergic to feathers. Horses, though…” Yawning again, Ares swallowed whatever he’d been saying, but Iphicles had no trouble interpreting ‘leggzzeteb’ as ‘let’s go to bed.’ It was the best idea he’d heard from anybody all day.

Climbing down from the desk, Ares pulled at Iphicles until he was perched on the edge it, then grabbed him under the ass. Iphicles wrapped his arms around Ares’ neck and let himself be carried to bed.

Ares, still talking, climbed in beside him, curled up against his back and tucked an arm around Iphicles’ waist. “…can do golden showers, if you’re kinky and I have a nice line in limpid pools.” ‘_Yeah,’_ Iphicles thought, ‘_a bath is definitely going to be required.’_ Tomorrow. Ares wrapped around him was almost as cozy as sleeping with his brother.“You have such a sweet tight ass.” Ares was cuddling against the aforementioned piece of Iphicles’ anatomy and his deep voice narbling in Iphicles’ ear was soothing. “Wish I’d known…” He just barely heard Ares say, “…ish you were a woman…beautiful pregnant…beautiful babies you an’ me…”

Iphicles’ eyes flew open. _‘So much for the afterglow!’_

He didn’t move until the sleepy burble devolved into soft steady snoring. Then, very carefully, he turned and looked at his bedmate. A couple of candles were guttering at the end of their wicks. By the faint light he could see the fan of eyelashes that spread across Ares’ cheek. Ares’ lips were slightly parted. Iphicles put a finger between them and felt it softly and obliviously sucked on. ‘_You know,’ _he told the unconscious deity_, ‘our brother does the same thing.’_

Sighing, he slipped an arm under Ares’ neck and to settled his with his head exactly where Hercules’ had been the night before. The god’s warm breath tickled Iphicles’ chest. _‘And from sex Hercules brain goes straight to babies…must be a god thing, although Hercules usually suggests I get married first.’_

 

TBC


	3. A Little Nookie

“Strangle the cock…”

“I’m trying,” a deep voice said.

“I meant the damn rooster.” Iphicles removed the fingers pestering his cock and folded them under his chin. _Sleep, let me sleep,_ he prayed desperately to Morpheus. It was no use. He wished he were one of those people, the ones you hear about, the ones who wake up and can’t remember what they’ve done the night before. He always remembered, matter how hungover, and today, even if he’d been so lucky as to forget, there was the lingering musk of sex and a god who’d started nibbling on the back of his neck. Giving it up as a bad job, he rolled over.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ares complained.

“I have to piss.”

“Can I watch?”

“Let’s work up to that level of intimacy,” he said, evading the groping hands. “If we go too fast, there’ll be nothing for later.” Laughter followed him all the way to the garderobe tucked into the back of his office.

When the chore was done, he checked on Hercules and Iolaus. Iolaus was flopped on his palette, sawing thick planks but Hercules lay so quietly only the steady rise and fall of his blanketed chest proved he was alive. His lips had crack, there was dried blood around the, and he was pale beneath the tan. With his light brown hair tumbled across his face. He looked young in spite of the furrows that worry had pressed between his brows. Leaning his head against the wooden door frame, Iphicles watched him sleep. He wanted to say_ I’m afraid._ _Wake up, babe, and tell me why this particular relative of yours is hanging around._

Knowing personally that mortals didn’t survived divine attention unscathed, Iphicles gave the gods their due in sacrifices and prayers. But he didn’t invoke them or, if he could help it, provoke them, difficult as that might be when any grove or pool could turn out to be sacred to someone. But by not taking chances, he’d never, to his knowledge, with the exception of his brother, been face-to-face with a divinity until last night. God’s were Hercules’ load and Hercules’ was welcome to tote it.

Iphicles dropped the curtain and grimaced at the shambles that was his office. His feelings were as chaotic as the room.All the clutter from his desk littered the floor—scrolls, tablets, ewers, candlesticks and state papers lay soaking in wine. The great chair Jason had left him lay on its side, the down cushion leaking feathers. _I’m afraid. _The smell reminded him of a whorehouse he used to visit in Piraeus._ I’m afraid it’s going to get deep._

Poking through the mess, he found Ares’ black robe and tossed it over his shoulder. There was a ewer that sloshed when he shook it. With that he stumbled back to bed.

He pulled the cork out and Ares slid over. “Wine?”

“No.” Iphicles’ stomach lurched at the acrid scent. “But it’s good for headaches.”

“Give it to me.” Iphicles handed it over and watched Ares make a gesture. “That’ll pop the pennies off the eyes of a dead Hybernian.” Now the smell was the heady aroma of the best Flavian vintage.

“Good trick.”

“It’s the first one in the book.”

He drank deeply and, when Ares declined, set the ewer on the floor. “Time to pull myself together.”

Ares’ arms went around his waist and teeth sank deep in his shoulder. “Stay here with me.” Iphicles arched against the pain, but that purring voice would have made one of Hestia’s virgins fuck a Herm. His prick raised its inquisitive head._ Down boy._ _You may think it’s a good idea, but trust me, it’s not. _He couldn’t help sighing or closing his eyes and rubbing his face against Ares’. “Lord, I wish I could. But I’ve got the king thing to do.”

“No.” Ares sat back looking petulant . “You need to learn the proper worship of your god.”

“What’s that?”

“Theopophagy.” Ares, pouncing, knocked him flat and proceeded to eat him alive.

Lifting his head to protest, Iphicles was bushwhacked by the sight of Ares’ bobbing between his legs and the softness tickling his thighs. _Beautiful._ It was as sweet as he’d imagined it the night before. Thoughtlessly, he stroked the midnight hair and curls ringed his fingers. A tongue explored the rim of his cock pausing to vibrate just at the tip. Iphicles’ balls tightened. Then he was swallowed again and lashed softly. The orgasm overwhelmed him so completely that there was no way, short of death, he could have stopped. He lost control. Hips pumping, he buried his hands in Ares’ hair and fucked Ares’ mouth, coming in a hot wet rush.

He was flying.

Forever.

Until he felt the teeth gently abrading him and remembered whose hair he was tugging on. He let go, quickly. Ares lifted his head, sighed and laid his cheek on Iphicles’ thigh. “Admit it,” he said. “Gods are good.”

_Yeah,_ Iphicles thought irreverently, _they have all the time in the world to practice._

“We’ll go to Thrace, fuck and make babies.” Still high, Iphicles pictured a celestial threesome—maybe one of the more aggressive muses—when Ares brought him back to earth. “You’ll be a beautiful woman.”

_All right, I’m not the only one with a good memory. It’s probably a fine attribute in a god of war to remember where you left off the attack_. “Oh, my god—”

“Iphicles!” At the panicked shout, Ares glowered toward it and threw himself flat on the other side of the bed like a sulking child. Iphicles was left half on, half off the edge of the mattress with his wet cock flopping on his stomach. He was able to grab the robe as Iolaus came charging around the corner and stopped to goggle at him slipping off the bed and landing on the cold stone floor with the robe puddled in his lap. “Iphicles…are you all right.”

“I’m fine.” Iolaus had saved him from having to frame the most diplomatic refusal of his sexual career.

“But your office looks like the battle of the Laphians and the centaurs.”

“I got a little cockeyed last night.” Iphicles managed to stand up without exposing himself. **__**

**_That’s one way of putting it._** Ares snorted into to the pillow.

“Cockeyed! You must have been wrecked.”

“I was upset about Herc.” Iphicles cut him off. “How is he?”

Ares lifted his head. “**_Yeah. How is our baby brother this morning?_**”

“Still asleep.” Iolaus gave up a relieved smile. “He didn’t get sick again and there’s no fever.”

“Good. That’s good,” Iphicles said, squirming into the robe. _Because when he’s better, I’m going to kill him._

“But when I saw that mess.” Iolaus glanced toward Iphicles’ office. “I thought maybe Ares…he’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I got to thinking, he was pretty loopy yesterday. More than usual I mean, even before the poison.” Iolaus was peering into the corners and at the ceiling, as though he thought the god might be hiding in the rafters. Ares had started undulating against the bedclothes.

“You don’t see him. Do you?”

“No. But he’s always had a real hard-on about Hercules.”

To prove Iolaus was telling the truth, Ares rolled over andIphicles almost chocked._ Ares Ichthalmos_. No wonder he was sore. “H-he saved Herc’s life and I didn’t get a chance to tell him how Truly, Honestly and Profoundly grateful I am.”

“Maybe you could sacrifice a bull at that old temple in Censas,” Iolaus suggested. “Before you raze it.”__

“Iolaus.” Iphicles took Iolaus by the shoulders and turned him around. “Help me find my appointment calendar. It’s got to be out here somewhere.” Behind him, it sounded like a wild animal was shredding his pillows.

They started picking up the wine-soaked papers, straightening things up enough to call for servants and breakfast. Ares, ignored, moved to the foot of the bed and watched them, stroking his erection. Maybe he found the sight of mortals laboring exotic. Iphicles wished, resentfully, that he’d just go ‘poof’ as Iolaus had said he would. Bending was just as painful as Iphicles had feared. The muscles in his ass complained every time he reached for something.

“You really were drunk.” Iolaus had found the ruined shirt he’d been wearing last night. 

“Bosky as an owl,” Iphicles affirmed.

 “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Iphicles, you know the poison on those spears wasn’t intended for Hercules.” The linen crumpled in Iolaus’s hands.

“I know.”

“But it made a god sick and a demigod sicker; it would have killed you.”

“I said, I know!” Iolaus opened his mouth again. “Please.” He wasn’t in the mood for statements of the obvious. “It’s going to be a bitch of a day and if I start roaring now, I’ll never last.” Actually he could feel his knees starting to shake.

“I’m sorry.” The fear in Iolaus’ eyes was a mirror of his own.

“No, I’m sorry. Get a chair. I need your help.” He pulled the armchair upright as Iolaus fetched one of the lesser chairs against the wall.

“What’s going on?” Iolaus set the chair in front of the desk, but Iphicles realized he was going to stand until the king was sitting. At least the seat cushion was soft down, but there was that tear in the leather. Tiny white feathers flew up and settled on his hair. They stuck to his cheeks and clung to the shoulders of the black robe. Behind Iphicles, somebody sneezed but Iolaus finally sat.  “And how bad is it?”

“That’s complicated.” Iphicles rubbed his neck. “You remember that it was an alliance of Greek states that won the Trojan War.”

“Of course, it’s not ancient history.”

“Well, we won the war, but some of us may lose the peace. Without competition from Troy, Athens has become too aggressive. Through Heraclea, their colony to the northwest, they’re encroaching on the borders of Parthia. Ever since I added Phlagra to Corinth instead of ceding it to Rena’s cousin, the Parthians would rather eat ground glass than make an alliance with me. You may have noticed Adrastus didn’t send a birthday present—at least not directly. When Parthia falls, and it will, Athens will turn either south to Sparta, or east to…”

**_You have my undivided attention_**_._The air pulsed and Iphicles smelled rain. Without turning his head, Iphicles could see a length of thigh encased in black leather. Ares Enyalios was standing beside his chair.

“Corinth,” Iolaus filled in the blank.

“Corinth.” Iphicles agreed. He realized he’d started to chew on a knuckle and made his hand into a fist in his lap. “Unless she’s stopped Athens will dominate the peninsula. This trade summit was a cover. Leonidas and I have worked out the terms of a mutual defense pact. Sparta and Corinth are traditional enemies but, from now on, if Athens attacks either city, she’ll be fighting a two front war. Nobody knows except my counselors, the Spartan ambassador and Hercules. The treaty is going to be ratified at the closing ceremonies tonight.”

“That’s great!”

“At least unprecedented.” Iphicles wryly indicated the stacks of stained parchment. “ If I can find it.”

He paused at that point. Iolaus said, “There’s something you’re not telling me. I tried but I couldn’t get a word out of Herc.”

** _Whoa, he’s so bright, I bet Apollo calls him son._ **

“I told him to keep his mouth shut. But two weeks ago, when I was out riding, there was an ambush. Someone tried to kill me.”

“Who?”

“The dagger was Parthian make. At least that’s what I thought until last night.”

“Now you think Leonidas is setting you up. But that doesn’t make any sense, you wouldn’t have gone hunting in the middle of something like this. Why not poison your codfish cakes instead?”

“Exactly. But, you know I hadn’t planned to go riding that day.”

“Then there’s a spy in the palace!!”

**_Oh, Socrates, _**Iphicles could hear the exasperation in Ares’ voice, **_there’s always a spy in the palace._**

“And who knew Ares would be out in the woods acting like his usual self?”

Iphicles clamped his hand on to the leather-clad leg beside him, below the knee, where Iolaus couldn’t see. “Maybe,” he said, “using one Hercules’ brothers to take out the other was simply the almond on the honey-cake for someone.”

“Oh.” Iolaus went silent. Then he said, “Iphicles, you weren’t there when Deinaria and the children were killed.”

“No,” Iphicles said. “I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t see how he was. We have to keep you alive.”

“Thank you,” Iphicles said. “By the way, I meant to thank you for being so discreet when you came in last night.”

“Lot of good it did. You knew we were there!”

“Bribing my guard is the sort of thing I pay them to tell me. Iolaus, you’re on the list of people who always have access; why didn’t you just tell them to admit you?”

“Uh? Remind me to have a word with a couple of clowns I know.”

“Later. If I sneeze today, Corinth gets a nosebleed and if Corinth bleeds, this part of the peninsula will hemorrhage.”

“So we have keep you alive.” Iolaus seemed to have forgotten a large portion of the usual ‘we’ had nearly died last night. “What’s the plan? What’s first?”

“First, you to slip down to the market and get us some breakfast. If I know my little brother, he’s going to wake up starving.” Another time, the disappointment on Iolaus’s face would have ludicrous. “Do you have any idea how many people have access to the food I have sent up here? After last night, they’ll be counting every olive I eat. I’m not giving a poisoner more ideas and I don’t want them to know how close they came.”

Iolaus turned white and compliant. “All right, I slip out to the market and get some us some breakfast. Then what?”

During the last part of the conversation, Ares had taken up a post behind Iolaus’s chair. **_Please. Tell us the rest of the plan?_**He crossed his arms on the back ofthe chair and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t plan to get killed,” Iphicles snapped.

“That’s not much of a plan.”

** _Blondie, we’re not dealing with Odysseus here. He’s going to get himself killed._ **

“It’s the best I can think of.” Irritated past bearing, Iphicles pushed against the chair back. More feathers flew up and the robe slipped from his shoulder, exposing the marks of Ares’ teeth. Ares leered and Iolaus’ mouth dropped open. No one spoke until Iphicles flipped the sleeve back up.

“Majesty…?” Iolaus began.

“Knock it off.” Iphicles was embarrassed. “You’ve known me since we were…”

“Sorry, Iph. Don’t get mad, but there’s something I forgot to tell you about yesterday.” It was the way Iolaus’s squinched that sent signal fires warning Iphicles that he wasn’t going to like what was coming. “For helping Hercules…I gave my word…Ares wanted.”

“What,” Iphicles said, “did Ares want?”

“To know who gaveHercthehickeyhe’sgotonhisneck.”

**_You remembered_**! Ares looked as delighted as if someone had just told him that the Peloponnesian war was about to break out again. Someone, Iphicles reflected, just had.

“What?”

Briefly, Iolaus got hung up—hick, herc, herc, hick—and had to point to the equivalent spot on his own neck. The place Iphicles had kissed Hercules yesterday morning. Iphicles could feel himself turning red. Iolaus was pink already, but that didn’t stop him from barreling on. “I couldn’t help it. I walked in on you guys yesterday. I mean, you looked like you’d just gotten laid. And Herc looked like that time your mother caught us in the barn. You remember? She blistered him so badly he couldn’t sit for a week.”

Iphicles saw the full glory of the intelligence break over Ares’ face. “Iolaus,” he said, “thanks for sharing.” _I’m going to kill you, too_.

Ares was bent double, roaring with laughter_. **Ask him to tell you what you look like when you’ve just gotten laid. **_When he straightened, tears were streaming down his face.

“I don’t think we need to…”

**_Your lips are swollen and your eyes are sooo sleepy. _**Ares started whooping again.

_I am going to kill them all, _Iphicles realized, _I don’t know how or when or with what, but I’m going to kill all three of them._

“Iphicles!” Iolaus was gripped by an idea. “You guys aren’t going to get anyone like the Eumenides mad at you? Or Zeus. Yeah, I guess it’s not like you’re Hercules’ mother… he wouldn’t kill you or…” Following him was like losing the chariot brakes on Mt. Pelion. You either negotiated the hairpin turns or went off the side. “It’s not like Zeus was ever a great role model…”

Ares had been wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, but that got his attention.

**_Zeus?_** **_That incestuous, bull-bollocked, cow fucking, parricidal pederast? The god with the second largest collection of pornographic pots on Olympus?_** Ares’ voice rose from calm to cannonade as he bent down and screamed in Iolaus’ ear. **_I don’t THINK so_!**

“I don’t think so.” Iolaus stuck a finger in his ear, wiggled it but kept on. “You know,” he said, “it’s weird to realize, but you never hear of Ares being late with the child support.”

“Don’t go there, Iolaus,” Iphicles ordered. _My sword is hanging by the door, there’s a knife under the bed and a crossbow on top of the linen press. I can stuff the bodies down the…_

**_You’ve said sufficient, short stuff. _**Ares blew a puff in Iolaus’ ear. **_Now take a hike_**.

“Okay.” Iolaus stood up swaying slightly and headed for the door “I’ll get the food.”

Ares appropriated his seat.

“Iolaus!” Iphicles called.

Iolaus turned around. “Yeah?”

“You have any money left?”

“Uh, no.” Iolaus seemed to wake up.

Iphicles opened his desk, took out a purse and tossed it over. “Here. Will you do two things for me?”

“Name them.”

“There’s a secret passage behind the garderobe.” Iphicles pointed. “Use it. And tell me something before you go.”

“Sure.”

“Tell me you and Herc have never done each other a personal favor.”

Iolaus turned scarlet. “Iphicles, he’s my best friend!”

**_That’s what I call my right hand, too,_** Ares called after the fleeing Iolaus, “He’s really annoying, isn’t he?” He saw the rage in Iphicles’ eyes. “Relax, we all have embarrassing connections—don’t we?”

“When we were kids, he always wanted to play healer and show everybody his sacred snake. He was responsible for Hercules getting that whipping.”

“And you _wuvved_ your baby brother.”

“No, I hated him. I was glad he got the beating and I teased him unmercifully.”

Iphicles got up and went to the door. He spoke to the guard outside, sending to have hot water and more fresh towels brought up. The guard started to ask a question, but he caught the look on Iphicles’ face and confined himself to, “Yes, Your Majesty.” Slamming the door, Iphicles went and pulled open the curtain across the door of Rena’s room.

Now the chamber was bright and warm and Hercules had thrown off the blanket. Sunlight glinted in his hair and in the tight curls covering his chest. Looking at him, Iphicles was almost overwhelmed by the volatile mix of love and resentment Hercules’ inspired in him. W_hat fool would say he isn’t beautiful? _He let the curtain drop.

Ares watched it all without moving.

“Did you know our mother had him exposed?” Iphicles said.

“What?” Ares said, sharply.

“The hour he was born,” Iphicles said. “She had him taken out and put on the hill behind the farm . I was almost four and I was glad, because people in town, especially the kids, called her a whore—to my face if not to hers. I thought if the baby was gone they wouldn’t say it anymore.”

“That’s a sad story.” Ares was watching over steepled fingers and his expression wasn’t sympathetic. “Too bad about Saint Alcmene.”

“There was no way I could understand how frightened she was. Then a few days later someone brought him back. She said it was Zeus and who was going to argue when it was so much fun to snicker. My mother was so happy, she cried and said ‘come see your beautiful baby brother, Iphicles. Zeus loves him.’ All I could think was, that because of him, I had no father to bring me home when she decided to throw me away. I hated him then, but when he grew up to be Hercules he really got up my nose.”

 “Apparently, you’ve stopped hating him,” Ares said.

“I grew up and got over it.”

“You’re not suggesting anything.” There was something of a coiled snake about Ares.

“No. I do know how infuriating he can be.”

“Then tell me what wrought this wondrous change in you?”

“My wife died. I blamed the world. People got hurt and I was responsible.” Iphicles still felt the shame. “He was right there to tell me.”

“Nothing you could’ve done would have stopped him.” Ares wagged his head.

“True. It was just another way he was better than me. So, I lashed out and told him every ugly thing I’d ever thought about him to his face. Hoping he’d kill me or, at least, go away. I was so empty. One night, when I was really going at him, I screamed, _fuck you!. _And…you can’t know what it means to touch someone when you’re as empty as I was. But he knew what I was going through and when it was over, he fell asleep. I don’t know why I did it, but I put my arms around him. Have you ever listened to his heart beating?”

“Not what I plan to do with his heart.”

“You’d like it. It’s like a war drum. Have you ever watched how he is around people? How careful? He can break someone with a thoughtless gesture and I can break them with a thoughtless word. He’s had to live like that that his entire life. I started to understand:”

Ares was smiling. “What?”

“That power has consequences.”

“Then tell me what you’d give for the power he has.”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care. I might give something to see the future, and then I’d know how this war is going to come out. But not if I had to put up with what he has to.” Iphicles had one last thing to say. “The truth is, there’s not one thing he needs from me and there’s not another person close to me, or trying to get close to me, who isn’t looking for some political or financial advantage.” He didn’t add: _I’ll have to face the necessity of a political marriage some day, but right now he’s mine. And I’m going to keep that as long as I can.’_ Besides, Ares was laughing like he’d heard the best joke of his life.

There was a discreet tap. Iphicles opened the door for the servant who’d come with the hot water. No just the servant, also his chamberlain and a cluster of attendants ready to bathe and dress him—an attention he hated. The grapevine was definitely buzzing. The senior door guard was trying to grab a peek without abandoning the demeanor his job required. No doubt, he’d had heard the king talking to someone; gossip was as good as gold when you worked in the palace. Iphicles waved the lot of them away and took the ewer and towels to the commode himself.

He poured water into the basin, plunged his head in and came up dripping. Letting the black robe fall to the floor, he began to wash. Between god and demigod, he felt used and sticky. It was time to be king.

Ares came and stood beside him at the mirror as Iphicles finished shaving. Smoothing curls behind his ears made their reflections even more alike. Shit-tired of being scared, Iphicles said, “No wars need instigating?”

“I don’t instigate,” was all Ares said. Satisfied with the results of his primping, he put a hand on Iphicles’ shoulder and turned them face to face. “But since you understand power—”

“I said, I understand its consequences.”

“—little king, this could be your lucky day.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a proposition for you.” The god’s hand on the back of his head, compelled him nearer. “Kill Hercules for me and I promise Corinth stays safe as long as you reign.”

Looking into Ares’ eyes, Iphicles saw fire. Warm leather slid against his body but the studs and jewels on the vest were like ice. “I could die tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that.” Their mouths were so close they were sharing the same breath and when Ares kissed him Iphicles tasted brass again. The touch on his ear was hot and wet. “Kill him. For me,” Ares whispered. The smell of bittersweet was in the air.

“No,” he said and staggered as Ares released him and stood back. In the god’s hands was a gold crown of twined oak leaves and acorns.

“Bend your neck and I’ll make you King of the Hellenes.”

“No.” He was aching.

Ares sighed. “You know, little king, you have a really tight ass, but if you say no to me once more, you’ll be doing some serious time as a…”

“Suck my scepter,” Iphicles said.

“That’s it.”

There was an explosion of light and Iphicles flew back and hit the wall behind him.

That was when things got strange.

That little push on his mind the night before, the one that had taken him, truthfully, where he’d wanted to go anyway, was like a mild tremor to the quake that struck him now. He was on the floor trying to get up when something essential in him twisted and he had to close his eyes because if he kept them open he was sure he was going mad. Ares’ laughter was the pealing of bells on his skin and he could smell all the shades of red in the room as his eyes described the taste of sex to him. His fingers, scrambling on the wooden flooring, clawed up splinters that shrieked as they dug into his skin.

He couldn’t tell how long his senses were scrambled. Five days or five minutes would have been the same eternity in Tartarus until he heard soothing noise and identified it as sound, not the taste of salt on his skin.

He let himself take felt comfort in the arms that held him until his senses reorganized themselves. Then he put his hands on Ares’ chest and tried to straighten up. He discovered he was standing upright but it seemed his center of gravity had shifted. He opened his eyes and saw a face framed by copper curls. He looked into amber eyes and at a lush mouth unadorned by any beard. _What am I doing up there?_

“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

Iphicles remembered those words. A beautiful girl had been accidentally shoved against him in a crowded Phlagran market. Those were the first words he’d said to the woman who became his wife. _She should’ve slapped me harder._

 

 

TBC


	4. The Trojan Whore

“You know, you’ve got a great set of knockers.”

“I don’t have knockers.” In the midst of chaos, a fact is something to hold on to. “What are you talking about?” Iphicles was still trying to figure out what he was doing up there. His eyes wouldn’t lie, but he seemed to be pulling long stands of hair over someone’s shoulder and it was odd how the someone also felt like him.

“You do now. Nice ones.” Spun around to face the mirror, it was just as well he hadn’t had breakfast. There he was grinning like an idiot with a woman in his arms. A woman whose hair, the color of ripe apricots, had been arranged to veil her firm round breasts. But what held Iphicles’ attention, was the way she resembled…although, her jaw was smaller, her were eyes bigger and her brows more arched…his jaw dropped. So did the jaw of the woman in the mirror. He/she touched his/her hair. So much softer than…he reached up and grabbed a handful of what should have been his own hair and yanked. “Noooo…” That wasn’t him complaining.

“Stay with me, little king.” He wasn’t going to fall, someone pretty solid was bracing him, but it took time for the black specs dancing at the edge of his vision to clear. When they did, the apparition was still there; pale as milk, not_ This isn’t happening._  even the hint of a shadow of a beard on that smooth skin.

“What-t?” He hiccupped realizing how high the pitch of his voice had become. “What have you done?”

“What I said. Told you, you’d be beautiful.” In the mirror ‘King Iphicles’ buried his face in the woman’s hair, nuzzled her neck. Iphicles watched him cup her breasts and tweak her nipples and felt those teats stand at attention. “Want to take it for a test ride?”

Iphicles watched his own hands wander down the front of the woman’s body. The skin on the back of his thighs began to tingle. He couldn’t help spreading them or lifting his butt higher when smooth, hard leather bumped his ass. A hand found its way between her legs and fingered a very responsive place, it felt as though he were melting. He rocked and the melting, liquid sensation intensified. A finger slipped inside him. In and out. He pushed down, gasping, swearing, “I’ll dedicate it to Artemis first.”

“Can’t. It lacks the essential qualification. Besides, you’re much too hot.”

An arm around his waist hitched him up on the knee pushing between his thighs. A moist tongue tickled his ear and his head fall back. He could feel the palm pressing that warm spot again. Fingers probing, working. He bore down, hearing a strange voice crying “no” and “no” over and over again. In horror, he opened his eyes. In the mirror, the apricot woman was tossing her head back and forth. She turned pink, crying, “please, don’t, please…” Deep inside, muscles began to throb with a series of soft wet explosions that grew stronger as waves of sensation broke over him. It happened again and again. Waves crested, broke over him and swept him into strange oceans. The finger inside him was the only anchor drawing him back to land.

When it was over the apricot woman lay flushed and exhausted against the king’s chest. The king’s smoky amber eyes, met the gaze of the apricot woman and he grinned like a cat. “Much too hot.”

“Bastard,” Iphicles yawned.

He was scooped up in strong arms and deposited on the bed. “Sleep it off, little king.” A hand on his forehead paused for a benediction. “I’ll do you right later.”

Sleep beckoned like an honest whore. Iphicles wanted to follow her but his eyes kept flicking open, heavy as they were. It was uncanny watching himself taking clothes out of the press. _This isn’t happening._ He watched himself dress, tucking shirt into black breeches, smoothing the doeskin over his thighs, tying on a belt of woven gold with tassels of small gold acorns. His best things too… That shirt was the new one his mother had made of his favorite dark blue with wild flowers embroidered on the collar and down the front. That was his body, not the one he lay sprawled in, on one the god had used so expertly. _It’s impossible._

But, if a god knocks up your mother and your pain-in-the-butt bastard brother turns out to be a demigod, if you’ve gone from being a mostly out of work merc, to being a queen’s consort, to being king in your own right, if there’s any advantage, whatsoever, in living your particular life, it’s that you understand the concept of ‘impossible’ as opposed to ‘improbable’.

“That’s mine!” He got to his feet, intending to beat the shit out of a jealous god. “It’s _my_ body and _my_ kingdom…” And he discovered, as one thigh knocked against the other, women’s bodies’ work differently than men’s. Bone hit stone with a sharp crack. Tears stung his eyes. But he started up, glaring, daring the god to laugh at him.

Ares just shook his head. “Little king, you’re amazing. That should have put you sleep for a week.”

“And that’s _my _shirt you son of a….”

“You’ve just got to be difficult, don’t you?” In two steps, Ares was on him and had a hand over his mouth. He was being dragged to the door. “Can’t have you waking up baby brother and telling—he’d probably believe you even looking like that.” Ares stopped and looked him up and down. “Especially looking like _that_.”

Iphicles found himself clothed in something light, tight and green and the door blew open so fast the two guards outside couldn’t even pretend they hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop.  Iphicles opened his mouth to yell for help and to tell the two gaping idiots they were going spend the next twenty years digging latrines in Parthia. “Get me the Sergeant of the guard!” The ‘king of Corinth’ was already bellowing.

 

* * *

 

Hercules dreamt. He was cupping Iphicles’ head, tilting it so that he could watch his shaft glide in and out of that succulent mouth. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing curled around his fingers and Iphicles looked up at him from midnight eyes. He tried to say how much he loved his brother but he could only cry out as he came and…realized that Ares…_his brother…_ was kissing him…he opened his eyes and the image of Iphicles dissolved in painful sunlight. He tried to hold on, but his hand passed through where the incubus had been.

“Iphicles…” He was alone and his cock was still spurting the last of his orgasm.

Then he heard what had woken him—a woman in trouble. He tried to get up and couldn’t move.

She was crying. They had to find her.

“Iolaus!” He tried calling, but nobody could have heard the croaking that came from his dry throat.

Then the crying took on a familiar rhythm and he stopped struggling so hard. Iolaus would have laughed at him, mistaking the sound of a woman making love for the sound of a woman in trouble. Not before adding that there wasn’t a lot of difference anyway, but it sounded like she was having a good time…he’d been dreaming_…_that’s all it was…a dream. He fell asleep again.

Then a heavy door slammed and there were voices outside. One, commanding and imperative, he recognized.

He sat up, the blanket sticking to his belly as he pulled it away, and tried to stand. Dizzy, he knocked the bed table over. Its freight of pitcher, basin and lamp crashed to the floor, splattering both himself and the bed with cold water. He fell with it and sat bleeding from the sharp edge of the broken pitcher, so weak, he didn’t realize for a few moments that his over stressed body had given out and he’d pissed the floor.

The tapestry over the door was ripped open. Iphicles walked in, stopped and glared at him.

Despite the expression of disgust on Iphicles’ face, seeing him was like a dam bursting. Chest heaving, he said, “You’re alive.”

“And you’re a watering pot.”

Hardly blaming Iphicles for that, he gave a soggy nod. There were towels at the foot of the bed. He pointed at them with shaking hand.

Iphicles tossed one at him and it fell short of his reach. He tried and discovered he couldn’t even lift his own body. “I can’t—”

“Oh, for—” Iphicles hoisted him out of the mess and sat him on the bed. “Does everyone have to be difficult today?”

 “Iphicles, I wasn’t—” Having Iphicles angry at him—“I was dreaming,” he managed.

“And having a good time.” Iphicles was looking at his crotch.

“I thought I heard voices. Who were you arguing with?”

“Have you ever tried minding your own business?”

“Sorry.” Not even the times he’d been wounded, could he remember feeling so cold and so weak. “If this is being sick, I don’t like it.” Iphicles had picked up a towel and was roughly mopping him. To Hercules he looked drawn, there were purple circles under his eyes, Hercules reached out to touch him. “Are you all right?”

“Better than you

Hercules couldn’t stand having Iphicles look at him like that. He buried his head in Iphicles’ neck. “I was dreaming about Ares.”

Iphicles snorted. “What’s not to dream about?”

“No. I dreamed he’d done something to you.” he said. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” He could feel that Iphicles was shaking.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

Desperately, Hercules wanted to hold Iphicles close and, when a hand touched his hair, he thought he was going to dissolve. After a while, when he’d stopped crying so hard, the hand was still stroking his hair—but he’d fallen asleep again and didn’t know it.

 

* * *

 

Iphicles was going to see Kazon busted so low, the brass-bound idiot would spend the rest of his career working for Hades. That slimy son of a hydra hadn’t paid attention to a word he’d said, just carried him off to the kitchen over his shoulder. Like a sack of flour. Like he got orders from the king to do this sort of thing every day.

Now he was trying to hand Iphicles over to the head cook, who was giving him real grief about it, Iphicles was glad to hear. (the over Kazon’s shoulder was limited)

“Does this look like Aphrodite’s temple to you, Sergeant? Did you see a sign posted outside saying ‘drop your used whores here’?”

There was giggling and snickering in the background.

 “She’s your problem!”

“No way! We’re in it up to our tails cooking for that mob of freeloaders upstairs. I haven’t got time for this crap.”

“Cookie, Iphy wants her kept out of his way for the rest the day,” Kazon interrupted. “And Cookie, the operative word was ‘kept’.”

“Then he can stick her in a cell, if he’s afraid of _mislaying_ her.” The chortling chorus didn’t bother waiting for the punch line. “So to speak.”

“The cells are full of Parthian, Spartan and Athenian spies. She’s your problem. Iphy’s orders. She can turn a spit or clean out the middens or haul ashes for all I care!” With a bruising whack on his butt, Iphicles was dumped on the greasy floor. The last glimpse Iphicles had of Kazon was boot heels walking away. _Tartaus is too good for him._

He rolled over and scrambled to his feet, intending to make a dash for the door. But there was no place to run. He was surrounded by a veritable army of cooks and scullions. All well armed with rolling pins, long wooden spoons and sharp knives. Their general, a tiny mountain range of a woman, nearly as broad as she was tall, was examining him with the expression, he suspected, she saved for weevils in the flour bin.

“Not intending to blight your hopes, Richel, but it looks like Iphy’s going in for strawberry blonde amazons.” The chorus groaned in mock sympathy. To his left, a small woman with light brown hair, rolled her eyes. “Yours either, Patrocolus.” A skinny youth blushed furiously red. The chorus was delighted but they stopped hooting and just stared when Iphicles began to reorganize the skimpy top Ares had stuck him in. It was too tight for decency and things had popped out.

Prickling in embarrassment, he glared back. What was going to happen next? This mob looked hostile. Where they going to torment him, the way herds do strange animals in their midst? Damned if they’d make him cringe or cry! But, hanging down Kazon’s back, his sinuses had started to drain and Iphicles couldn’t help sniffling. And at the first sign of weakness, the gang of food service workers was on top of him.

“Poor baby! You must be so tired!” Cookie spread her arms, and pulled him to her floury bosom. It was like being buried in a basket of soft buns. “Don’t pay attention to what I said, Honey. You can’t let those fuckin’ guardsmen get too big for their breaches or they’ll be in here all day mooching and grab-assing with the help.”

The rest of the kitchen staff surrounded them, patting and cooing. He could hear them saying things like ‘bit gawky’, and ‘she’s so pretty, it’s not fair’ and ‘really nice ones.’ And, with his nose in Cookie’s yeasty décolletage, he found himself bawling, after all.

“Come on, Sweetie,” she said. “Let’s get you something to eat. If I know men, you won’t have had a mouthful of food all night.”

She was right. Still sniffling, he straightened and was led, surrounded by what had turned into a twittering flock of mother hens, to a trestle table, where he was served fresh hot bread, cheese and apple butter. And under a multitude of approving eyes, he applied himself to the food and didn’t stop until he was full.

As he ate, he checked out his audience. It looked like most of the men and women who worked in the kitchen, (except for a few with tasks that couldn’t be neglected and even they kept coming by at regular intervals) found watching him eat perfectly fascinating.

Someone put a tankard of beer down in front of him. He made a promise to himself that he would look the man up later and have him made a duke or something. When he put it down, someone gave him a refill. Still they stared. He was attending a convention of owls. When he put the tankard down empty a second time, a redheaded woman finally spoke up.

“Okay, Sugar,” she said. “Talk.”

“What?” He was confused. _They couldn’t know…_

“How big is it?” the brunette said, holding her hands out about nine inches apart. “And how many times did he do it?”

 

* * *

 

With the two roast chickens in his basket paid for, Iolaus headed for the pomegranate juice vendor. A half a dozen cold cooked artichokes, and he was stomping off to the baker. He snarled when the man told him they were out of poppy seed rolls and that he’d have to settle for sesame. He felt like a worm; all too aware of what had motivated the last few remarks he’d made to Iphicles. He didn’t blame the king for sniping back. It wasn’t fair but after thirty years, he wasn’t used to being jealous of his relationship with Hercules. Not where Iphicles was concerned, anyway.

Hades knew, when he and Herc been kids, the future king of Corinth had been a spotty, sulky, viciously spiteful teenager who hadn’t wanted anything to do with a bastard brother. When they’d been teenagers, Iphicles hadn’t been around at all—gone—run off—joined the army. Then, they’d run into him in Phlagra pretending to be Hercules and there was a piece of work you’d be proud to call your brother—Not!

But something had happened. It started the moment Iphicles had married Rena. It was as though he’d finally found a coat that fit him. The man in the palace now, could admit when he was wrong. Could be trusted to do the best thing for his people. And was brave and tall and broad shouldered and had a face like…oh yeah, to add insult to injury, he had a face like a…did it have to be _that_ god?

The shopping was done. It wasn’t his style to brood, but the Wriggling Dryad was right in front of him and he needed a moment to calm down. He went in and ordered a beer.

And, if Iphicles hadn’t been Jason’s first choice for a successor, well, he wasn’t the third—or the thirtieth—Jason had to have known Hercules wouldn’t have accepted the crown under any circumstances. If he couldn’t do it with his hands and do it_ now_, Hercules didn’t want any part of it. It was almost a phobia about institutionalized responsibility. Iolaus wasn’t even sure Herc was registered to vote.

It wasn’t the sex. Iolaus could guess how complicated Hercules’ need for his older brother was. Really. _Oh, all right! _Some of it was the sex. _Did they have to be so obvious about it?_ Look whose attention they’d attracted. Add Ares to the equation and things got—well, bizarre wasn’t the word for it, but it would do. Good thing he was gone. Then Iolaus smiled, remembering Ares naked on the trail back to Corinth. That was something to torment the god with later. Carefully, of course, when Hercules was nearby.

“Thank Zeus, I was starting to think your face was going to freeze like that.”  The snap of Nemetona’s fingers just missed his nose as she set another tankard in front of him.

“Thanks, Nemie.” Grateful for her cheerful freckled _human _face, he caught her hand. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He planted a kiss on palm. “How my day is better for just seeing you?”

“Iolaus,” she said. “You are a such liar and flattery will get you fuck-all. But flattery and dinner will get you laid. If you’re still game after the other night.”

The other night had been special, but _Fuck all gods, when you can’t make plans._ He shook his head. “No promises.”

“It’s a time limited offer; going fast.”

“I’ll try.” He went for sincerity.

She gave him a disbelieving look and took herself away.

Followed the swing of her ass as she went, admiring the delicious figure eight that it described, was when he noticed Sergeant Kazon of Iphicles’ personal guard in a booth in the darkest part of the room. There was a woman in the booth with him and, since Kazon had to be one of his least favorite people, when Nemetona came by again, he commented, “Brass Ass has a thing going.”

“Yeah. Is that sick, or what?”

The two seemed totally engrossed in each other.

“She must be hot stuff to risk a court martial over.” Actually, she looked young. From her coloring, she might have been one of those cool honey blonds. Vaguely familiar. But her head was modestly covered and Iolaus couldn’t see her face.

They did see Kazon reach out and touch the woman’s arm. She said something and that hand snapped back as though it had been burned. “Pussy whipped,” Iolaus determined. “Poor bastard.”

“Poor bastard, anyone else.” Nemetona said.

“That’s harsh,” he told her.

“Do you know a single person who’d piss in Kazon’s ear if his brain was on fire?”

“No,” he admitted.

“But, if he wasn’t such a cheap creep, I’d feel sorry for him.”

“See, all the world loves a lover!”

She poked him. “Seriously. You see that trapped, dumb animal expression on his face—he is in love.”

“Nemie, please!” he protested. “My stomach.”

She ignored him. “And, he isn’t getting any.”

“You don’t know that,” he objected.

“Bet? I change the sheets around here.”

“No bets.” Iolaus felt as though his sex had been impugned. “She finds Kazon attractive, she’s the sort of girl who finds moonlight visits to the armory exciting. Maybe long sharp weapons turn her on. Anyway, she’s probably married.”

“And they’re planning to do him in and run away together?” Nemetona wrinkled her nose. “Try imagining what Kazon could be an improvement on.” Iolaus took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Only a…” That’s were he’d seen her! He planted a kiss on Nemetona’s mouth; grabbed his basket and headed for the door. “Don’t give up on me tonight.”

“Break my heart and I’ll kill you,” she called after him.

 

* * *

 

The entire kitchen staff, a representative from the laundry, two chambermaids and his gardener were all waiting to find out how big hiscock was. And how many times, and it what positions he’d done it to himself last night. It had taken him minutes to figure out what they meant, and they were all annoyed at his obtuseness.

_Hades!_ Eventually he got it. He held his hands out about eleven inches apart.“Six times.”_ Take _that _Odysseus! _

 Everyone in the room started smiling, drooling or whooping. On the edge of the crowd, people were high-fiving each other. The laundress wanted to know if he was circumcised and one of the cooks handed fifteen dinars to the gardener.

“Oh, honey, we were starting to get worried.” Cookie hugged him. “As far as anyone could tell, in the past two years, the only two things he’s put it to are his palm and his brother.”

 “But his wife died, he loved her and…” he defended himself. “And how do you know about Herc…I mean his brother?”

The two chambermaids started giggling madly. _It’s true_, he realize, _you can’t keep secrets from the servants._

“Never mind the horny broads.” That was the cook who’d brought him the ale. “We all felt really bad about Rena. She was a fine lady.” Everyone nodded. “But Jason left off naming a successor until it was almost too late and look at the mess he made. A king’s got responsibilities and you don’t get heirs from dead wives or brothers.”

“Unless the brother has a wife—right, Richel?” The woman Cookie had teased earlier took a swing at the man who said it. He ducked and everyone laughed.

“Richel thinks Hercules is cuter than Iphy. But, it puts no buns in the oven with neither of them looking at anything but each other until you came along.”

“Yeah,” someone opined. “Maybe the assassination attempt made Iphy aware of his mortality.”

“Assassination attempt!” he said. _If they knew about that, did they know about the treaty?_ “I feel sick.”

“Don’t worry, Honey. We’re going to take care of you.” Cookie comforted and two people thrust more ale in front of him. “You could be carrying a future king or queen of Corinth right now and we’re not letting you out of our sight.”

All Iphicles could think to say was, “Swell.”

“So, tell us, sweet-cheeks, where did he fine you?”

“Dour Sally’s,” he said, naming that whore house he used to visit in Piraeus.

 

* * *

 

Later when he was asked about it, Iolaus explained that he’d been distracted with preparing an apology while he was climbing back up that secret passage to Iphicles’ suite and, that after consorting with Hercules most of his life, he just tended to forget what an ordinary man was capable of. It didn’t seem odd, Iolaus was just afraid Hercules had relapsed, that, when he got back, Iphicles was coming out of Rena’s room with Hercules in his arms. Hercules’ head was resting on Iphicles’ shoulder and his eyes were closed, but there was blood on his thigh that hadn’t been there before. It was distracting.

“What happened?”.

Iphicles hadn’t even noticed Iolaus was back and started at the question. “Your hero decided to go for a walk and didn’t get very far.” Iphicles looked self conscious at being caught carrying his brother like a baby. “Straighten that bed.” Iphicles ordered. “The other one needs changing.”

Setting the basket on a chest, Iolaus anxiously jerked the covers and pillows into place as quickly as he could while Iphicles stood by and, when the bed was neatened, Iphicles set Hercules down on it.

“I’ll wash him.” Iolaus offered, then recollected himself. “Unless, you want?”

“No. Feel free.”

Iolaus could have kicked himself. Of course the king had work to do and went to his desk, leaving him to find the basin and sponge on the commode. The cut wasn’t deep and Hercules slept through the handling and washing. Iolaus didn’t wish him to wake, but in the silence of the room he felt alone, especially as cleaned what could only be semen from Hercules’ belly. He decided to clear the air. “Iphicles,” he said. “I know we haven’t been the best of friends…”

Iphicles looked up from the papers he was perusing. “This is not the time for a fuzzy moment.”

“I’m sorry. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

“He’s lucky to be alive. The nectar flowers that grow on the banks of Lethe is poisonous to gods.”

“That’s what was on the spears?”

“More than likely.”

Ares had put the parchment down and was watching Iolaus closely tuck the blankets around Hercules. It was such a concentrated look, Iolaus asked, “Is that the treaty?”

“No. It’s a plan to reorganize the Corinthian army with infantry equipped with iron swords. That’s the kind of innovation could change the course of war as we know it. Do you know how iron cuts through bronze?”

“No but it sounds bloody.”

“It is. War is about blood. It’s about the clean cut and the decisive blow.”

Iolaus looked at Hercules. “This isn’t clean.”

“And it’s not Leonidas’s style. But someone is trying to make us think so.”

“Those spears were a gift to you. You think someone could have tampered with them after the presentation?”

“When you left for the hunt yesterday, you had to pick them up. Where were they?”

“In the armory, of course—Ares temple.”

“That’s a nicely incriminating little touch. Who, other than Ares’ priests, has access to the armory?”

Iolaus began a list, “Your captains, the head of your personal guard, the armorer. Orion, of course but…”

“He’s dead,” Iphicles was impatient. “Stick to the ones who are alive. Whoever poisoned him, isn’t going to give up now, especially if they don’t know we’re on to them.”

“I’d check with Kazon then.”

“Kazon?”

“Well, if there was anyone poking around without authorization, he’d be on them like a tick on a dog—usually.”

“Usually?”

“I just saw him having a mid-morning tête-à-tête—with a woman.”

“That’s odd?”

“That’s weird.” Iolaus nodded. “You know how he’s got javelin up his spine but a friend of mine thinks he’s in love.”

Iphicles smiled and said, “You saw this woman. Maybe”

“Iphicles—Herc said that little honey who got to you the other night was Spartan. You know how they are.”

“Hercules told you about that?”

“He said she just wanted to sing a chorus of ‘Under My Tunic It’s Tight’ but…”

“He would.” Iphicles rolled his eyes. “I’m curious about this girl. I want you to check her out.”

“You sure?” Iolaus suddenly felt conflicted. There was that concentrated expression again and Iolaus wondered for a moment, if Iphicles thought he was being too possessive. “I mean, leaving Herc alone?”

“Trust me Blondie. A mouse won’t be able to get in or out. We can meet here after lunch and see what you’ve got. And, if anyone asks, you and Hercules killed the boar. Hercules decided to go on home and you stayed to visit a friend.” Iphicles smiled at him. “A close friend.”

 

* * *

 

Cookie said they were going to take care of him and she meant it. She also put him to work. With the extra mouths in the palace, another hand in the kitchen could only be useful. And, while he didn’t mind being wrapped up in a big white apron, since it covered a lot of flesh he wasn’t used to having much less exposing, they sat him in front of a mountain of tiny eggplants all needing to be cleaned, seeded, salted and dredged in flour.

Well the army had kept the promise it had made the day he joined—showed him most of the Known World and gave him skills for a lifetime. A few scullions had shown a tendency to take an attitude with him, but he picked up the paring knife and demonstrated that he knew one end of an eggplant from another. After that, they accepted him as one of their own.

About a third of the way through the pile, he slipped the knife into the pocket of his apron and tested the limits of that acceptance. He stood, stretched and sauntered toward the door. And was intercepted before he got half-way there by a cook in a blood stained apron, a man he’d watched manhandle a whole pig into the fire pit. He put a paw on Iphicles’ shoulder and said, “You don’t want to do that, Honey, Iphy wants you to stay here.”

Iphicles was getting tired of being called ‘Honey’ and was tempted to ask the big ox what made him such an expert on what ‘Iphy’ wanted. He controlled himself. “I have to use the jakes. Bad.”

It was true. Escape would be easier if he weren’t so desperate to pee. It would mean investigating some personal territory Ares was more familiar with than he was.

“Oh, that’s okay, Honey.” The cook patted his shoulder and turned him around. “Kitchen’s got it’s own in the yard out back.”

A twelve-foot wall with a locked gate enclosed the yard. Iphicles thanked him and went out. It was just as busy out there. Crates of produce being unloaded. The wine steward giving orders to a youngster to carry around to a local supplier. Everyone smiled as he went toward the homely little wattle-walled shack that was tucked tight in the furthest corner. He would have known it ten feet away, by the smell.

The amenities were simple: a rough board with a hole and a water jar for the fastidious. He eyed the noisome hole and remembered discussions he used to have with Rena over who had it worse—men or women. _Women_. _I’ll take nocturnal emissions, crotch rot and having to shave every day over this. _Hoisting his skirt, he sat.

Nothing happened.

In the army, you learn to mind your own business and whistle. He whistled.

Nothing happened.

_It’s just a question of voluntary muscle control,_ he told himself and gritted his teeth.

Nothing happened.

_What did Rena say she used to do when she was tense? Think about waterfalls? _

He thought about waterfalls. _The cataracts of the Nile separate Upper and Lower Egypt. _He tried major rivers._ The Tigris and Euphrates converge in…_there was a draft on his ass. Ventilation. He looked up and saw the outside wall that made up one side of the little convenience had a window punched right through it. Suddenly, he didn’t have a problem. When he was finished, he climbed on the seat and hoisted himself up. It was a tight fit, but he squirmed through. _Abyssinia._

 

TBC


	5. The Words of the Prophets

Iolaus watched Kazon berate the guards at the north gate, then march on, eyes forward. Black clouds were gathering and sudden squalls weren’t unusual at this time of year. Perhaps he just wanted finish checking all the perimeter posts before it rained. In any event, as he turned down the alley that ran behind the palace, he didn’t look back so he didn’t see how many of the guard gave him a non-traditional salute as he disappeared.

Hanging back, Iolaus did see. But then watching Kazon kowtow to court officials while arrogantly abusing the population had always been a lesson in how to be a bully and he didn’t blame them. At the corner, he was nearly bowled over by another officer who stamping off in the direction of the barracks. The expression on his face made Iolaus decide not to bother asking for an apology. He shook himself and surveyed the alley. Kazon was no where in sight. There was no one there. No one. The guard on the east side had been dismissed without a replacement.

At least the gate was locked, when Iolaus got to it. He rattled the handle. The sergeant must be inside extorting a better breakfast than the barracks served. Maybe that was why he’d released the guard early. Stomach growling at the thought of breakfast, Iolaus decided to go around through the front. He could catch up with Kazon inside and get something to eat himself. Iphicles had been so distracted he hadn’t invited Iolaus to hang around.

He was just turning, when someone yelled, “Iolaus! Heads up!”

It sounded like Iphicles. He was looking around for the king when someone landed on him and knocked him flat. When he tired to get up, there was a woman on top of him with her knee was in the small of his back, and she was no sylph.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said. “But I’m glad you were there.”

“You cow!” He spat gravel. “Gerroff!”

“I said, I was sorry. Have you gone deaf?”

They rolled apart and Iolaus got up on hands and knees. She too. And seeing her full on, Iolaus’s temper abated considerably. She’d knocked the wind out of him, and he didn’t feel like apologizing, but those were the most perfectly pert pair of breasts he’d ever seen on a mortal woman. The taste of honeydew filled his mouth.

“What are you gawking at?” she said.

“Huh?” He looked up and took in a generous mouth, amber eyes and masses of apricot hair. It registered on him that she looked vaguely familiar, but he’d have sworn he’d never seen her anywhere but in his dreams.

“I wasn’t expecting to get bombarded by a blonde.” Rubbing his shoulder to convey Pain Nobly Endured, he got up and offered her his hand. If she worked in the palace, he could get her name and take her out when this whole thing was over.

She ignored his hand. “I told you to look out.”

So much for courtesy and, except that he was dumb struck watching her climb awkwardly to her feet, he would have told her off. But she was tall. A goddess! And her figure—long, firm belly and thighs—he couldn’t help gawking as the wind whipped her green skirt around and she tried to tug her clothing into place. He regained his voice when the top of the apron was secured around her neck.

“What were you doing climbing through the wall, honey? I thought I heard—” He found himself pinned to the stucco with a knife at his throat. Only a tiny paring knife, but there was a knee at his groin backing it up—this kitchen wench had combat training.

“Smile when you call me that.” A little applied pressure underscored her point.

“Sure,” he smiled. “I was just going to say, I thought I heard the king calling, and…”

“Damn you all to Tartarus. I am the king!”

“And I’m the Colossus of Rhodes. Honey, you…” _don’t look anything like the king_, he started to say and realized that was exactly who she looked like.“Iphicles?” he squeaked.

She nodded.

“You not a woman!” His voice was still aloft.

“What do you call these?” Her breasts were right under his chin, as tender as ripe peaches in a basket.

“Nice ones,” he submitted carefully. “Really, really nice ones.”

“That’s what Ares said. What is it with you guys?” Iolaus would have answered, buther eyes were very bright, and the knife was still at his throat. He raised his hands. “Sorry.” She backed off. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately.”

“It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. _Stay calm. There has to be a rational explanation._ He knew she was telling the truth, even if his body didn’t believe it. He gave up and wailed, “You _can’t_ be Iphicles!” She got that insanely bright look again. Quickly, he added, “What hap—?”

Excited voices were coming from over the wall and getting louder.

“Oh, shit,” she said.

And it was starting to rain.

“Bad timing?”

“Yes.”

“We could talk about this somewhere else,” he suggested.

“Good idea.”

On cue, the kitchen gate opened and a harassed looking Kazon ran into the alley. On his heels was a mob of people in aprons, gesturing and shouting. Among them, a small compact woman, waving a wooden spoon, and a man in a blood-stained apron, bearing a close resemblance to Typhon. As they caught sight of Iolaus and Iphicles, everyone started pointing and yelling at the same time.

Iolaus and Iphicles took to their heels up the alley with Kazon and the cooks belling after.

Rounding the corner at speed, they burst into Corinth’s agora, with its farmer’s market at the busiest time of the day—more than usually busy today because of the visiting dignitaries and their retinues. Iphicles jogged to the left and Iolaus caught his arm for fear of loosing her in the crowd. (_Her? Him! Oh Zeus, this can’t be happening!_)

There was no chance of anyone losing them. Kazon, with the kitchen mob hot on his heels, ran into the square after them, stopping and pointed at Iphicles, shouting, “Halt!”

They didn’t halt. The rain was coming down steadily now, and the merchants and farmers near by, hurrying to cover their stock, thought Kazon was shouting at a thief. They started yelling and pointing also, confusing people further away with the impression that a gang was marauding through the stalls.

Some taking Iolaus and Iphicles for the culprits, started grabbing for them. A cheese maker got hold of Iphicles’ apron. Iphicles punched him but lost the apron. Some thought it was the kitchen staff, fanning out among the stalls. Dogs had started barking and children were screaming. The Typhon look-alike slipped in something squishy and bumped the pomegranate juice seller, spilling his stock in the dirt. The pomegranate seller belted the cook, and was laid flat in the mud for his trouble. The pomegranate seller’s neighbor sold stoneware crocks. He picked one up and went to the aid of his friend. Two of the scullions jumped him as he cracked the jar over the big cook’s head.

The small round woman had been whacking Kazon with her spoon, trying to get his attention. He ignored her until someone scored a direct hit on the back of his helmet with a rutabaga. Blame for that was later assigned to the green grocer, who was the crock seller’s brother-in-law, although that was considered circumstantial. The sergeant pushed the little cook into the green-grocer’s fig tower. Fruit went rolling under everyone’s feet and Kazon’s reputation as an asshole was confirmed.

Iolaus and Iphicles had taken refuge under a rush merchant’s table. They watched cooks, sick of being cheated, and farmers, whose goods had been libeled for years, take the opportunity to get even._ “Call my kohlrabi puny, will you?”_ The question was punctuated by the sound of something solid impacting something hard.

About that time, one of the under-secretaries from Athens, out shopping for souvenirs, was spotted by his opposite number from Sparta. He’d already bought a mug, emblazoned with the motto ‘Greeks do it in wooden horses’ and was negotiating for a tiny garment with lettering that read ‘My parents went to Corinth and all I got was this lousy chiton.’

The Spartan shouted _“Sic semper tyrannis, Athenian pig!”_ and threw a melon. More produce took wing. The battle was joined as diplomats began practicing the continuation of policy by other means and kibitzers, appearing like worms on meat, began to lay odds.

“I left you upstairs an hour ago,” Iolaus shouted over the noise. “You were fine.” A barrage of fruit was falling around them and rain was coming down in sheets, but they were crouching in relative safety behind a pile of sisal matting. “What happened?”

“Ares,” Iphicles shouted back.

“You told me that holy terror had gone.”

“I lied,” Iphicles said.

“I should have known. You never call me ‘Blondie’ and you were carrying Hercules around like he was a baby.”

Someone landed on their table, knocking a heap of baskets down and rolling off into the mud. Iphicles recognized the ambassador from Samos, unconscious. “You know,” he said, observing the melee. “This could cause an international incident.”

“Really?” Iolaus said.

A dog ran by with a fresh goat’s leg in its mouth, followed by a litter of squealing brown piglets and a naked two-year-old shrieking at the top of his lungs. Near, a voice was saying, _“I heard your sister’s in a knocking shop in Syracuse.”_

Someone called, _“Alcibiades? Sweetheart, where are you?”_

_“Platonic pervert!”_

_“Structuralist!”_ There was the sound of a wet slap.

Now, they were being spattered with mud as well as fruit pulp and garbage, and Iphicles was shaking him by the arm. “Hey! What did you say I was…”

That was the last thing Iolaus heard before he was deafened by a peal of thunder loud enough to signal the end of creation. It boomed and rolled on as a new and shriller note rose amid the general din. Bare feet, booted feet, sandaled feet pelted by their table, slipping and sliding. The guard had been called out and everyone who could was running to escape arrest.

The Wriggling Dryad was just across the square, down a side street. Iolaus nudged Iphicles and pointed. They ducked under the end of the table, stayed low and ran for safe harbor.

It was dark and peaceful inside the Dryad—for the two seconds it took the tavern’s regulars, the few who’d stayed at their tables during the riot, to appreciate their appearance. Then with the cheerful sadism of men who are clean, dry and not wanted by the law they whooped and stomped and applauded.

Iolaus staggered to the bar with Iphicles behind him. “Ale,” he gasped.

Nemetona slammed a tankard down front of him so hard half of it slopped on the counter. Iolaus grabbed it and drank gratefully. She said, “Did you cause that riot?”

Iolaus wiped his mouth. “Just a misunderstanding.”

Nemetona was glaring over his shoulder. “I’ll bet.”

Recalling the other reason the patrons might have had for cheering, Iolaus looked around. Sure enough, during their run across the square Iphicles had gotten soaked and the nipples of those perfect breasts stood out like cherries. Wet and muddy, with his hair in rat-tails, Iphicles could have caused a riot all by himself. Sure enough, someone hollered, _“Thirty denars, if you drop your top.”_

He turned to Nemetona. “We need a room.”

Big Mistake.

“Bastard! This isn’t that kind of place.” Picking up a carving knife, she started around the counter.

_Yes, it is!_His sense of self-preservation finally kicked it and he put up his hands, surrendering to an armed woman for the second time that day. “You don’t understand, Nemie. It’s not what you think.”

“Give me another name for it!”

“This is Hercules’ and Iphicles’ cousin, Iphigenia.”

“And that outfit’s supposed to be the latest thing from Thebes?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. She was on her way to the palace when some Spartan diplomat got fresh and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“With her assets hanging out like that, who’d blame him.” Nemetona was still suspicious, but the connection with royalty slowed her down and she took a closer look at Iphicles. “She does look like the king, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Iphicles snapped. “And I’m not nearly as hard of hearing.”

“Sorry, honey,” Nemetona apologized. Iolaus could almost hear the enamel of Iphicles’ teeth crack. “But anybody’d mistake you for a working girl in that dress, and you know how it is with Blondie, here.”

“Has he offered to show you his sacred snake?” Iphicles said.

“Nemie,” Iolaus interfered before they started sharing precious memories in that disturbingly open way women had. “That Spartan said he was going to bring charges against her for soliciting. It’ll ruin Iphicles’ chances to marry her off if it gets out so we need a place to lay low, until we can get this whole mess straightened out.”

From the look on a few patron’s faces it wasn’t going to be a Roman moment before somebody offered to buy Iphicles a drink and got a knife in the ear for his trouble.

A man called, “I’ve got eight inches of pure pleasure for you, honey.”

And Iphicles shouted back ,“That’s nothing! You can kiss my…”

There was laughter. “See Creon, everyone knows you haven’t got enough for a passably good time.”

“Nemie!” Iolaus said. “Now!”

She, grudgingly, produced the key from under the counter. “Last room on the left.”

He scooped it up, hooked Iphicles by the arm and started for the stairs.

“Fifty denars,” someone offered.

Iphicles flipped him off.

The last thing Iolaus heard as they climbed was, “Hey, blondie, roll her over and do it once for me.”

 

* * *

 

Outside, the thunderstorm passed and the sun saw the guards shoving the slowest or unluckiest rioters into the middle of the streaming, steaming market. “We are going to take care of this,” Sergeant Kazon was saying. “King Iphicles is sitting in court right now and you clowns can be tried, convicted and fined before lunch.”

A merchant was bitching about who was going to pay for damages. A brisk ‘thunk!’ on the skull with the pommel of a sword rendered him docile. Then a tall, bald and beaky type protested, “You can’t do this to me, I’ve got diplomatic immunity!”

“What embassy?” Kazon asked.

“Athens.”

Thunk!

“What about that little blond guy and the tall broad?” A local man at the end of the line complained. “You let them get away—I saw you.”

Thunk!

No one else felt that they had anything of importance to add.

 

* * *

 

Between her awe of royal relations and her distrust of Iolaus, Nemetona had compromised by giving them one of the Dryad’s smallest, cheapest rooms. One hard chair. A tiny table. A narrow rickety cot. Iphicles had looked at the bed and said, “Iolaus, I don’t think she trusts us.”

Then without giving it any more consideration, Iphicles threw himself on it face down while Iolaus locked the door.

If Iphicles had come to the end of his tether, Iolaus didn’t blame him/her. The pronouns were making his head ache. He sat on the chair and waited but, when Iphicles showed no sign of coming back, he crouched beside the bed and gently touched his shoulder. “Iphicles?” No response. “Iphicles, please. Don’t fold on me now.”

Iphicles lifted his head. Now that Iolaus knew, there was no mistaking the man in the woman. The short sharp planes of his face had only needed a little softening. The full mouth and Iphicles’s peculiar amber eyes were exactly the same. So was the humiliation in them. And the rage.

“I feel like a dirty joke.”

“I know,” he said.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Ares has the sense of humor of a four year old. He made me a monster once. A naked, hairy, dirty, big-footed monster, with teeth like cobble stones.” Iolaus made faces and hand gestures to illustrate. “Could walk. Couldn’t talk. All I could do was gargle. Wound up in a freak show and the only good thing about it was he did it to Autolycus too.”

As he’d hoped the king didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the way his mouth was threatening to crumple and Iolaus had half reached to brush the corner of it. Iphicles’ eyes flicked to his hand and he aborted the move. Still needing to make some gesture, felt in his pocket and offered the slightly grubby handkerchief he found there.

“Thanks.” Iphicles took it and mopped his cheeks and blew his nose, “Rena was right, women just cry more easily than men.”

“My wife used to say that too,” Iolaus affirmed.

“What about Hercules? Is he alright?”

“We’d put him your bed, the other one was messed up. Don’t worry, if he tries to hurt him, Zeus will swat him like a fly.”

“He can do a lot short of that,” Iphicles said darkly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was there, but he was standing right behind you.”

“Did he happen to mention, what in Tartarus he thought he was doing?”

Iphicles sat up blowing his nose again. “He said, he thought we’d make beautiful babies together.” Even, knowing Iphicles couldn’t mean it, Iolaus still gaped like a trout and Iphicles looked at him in exasperation until he shut his mouth. “He’s planning to muck up the treaty announcement tonight!” “We’ve got to stop him.”

“We will,” Iolaus assured the bedraggled king. “But we have to have to find a way to maked you less conspicuous if we’re going to get back in the palace.”

Iphicles glanced down at himself. “You think?”

“Yeah. You’d make an impressive one, but I’m not sure Corinth is ready for ‘Queen’ Iphicles.”

“Iolaus, raise you eyes above my chest when you talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “But I think I’m jealous.” The look Iphicles gave him spoke volumes about Iolaus’s sanity. “No. Seriously. Didn’t you ever try to imagine what it would be like to be a woman and have breasts?”

“No.” Iphicles was emphatic.

“Well I used to,” Iolaus admitted. “I figured I’d never get anything done, because I’d spend all day playing with myself.”

“Then,” Iphicles told him, “I wish he’d done it to you. I couldn’t even figure out how to pee sitting down.”

 

* * *

 

Court was in session and things seemed to be moving right along as Kazon directed his captives to the front. The offended diplomat was sulking and the man who’d reminded Kazon about the two escapees was holding the back of his head and glowering. But they weren’t Kazon’s concern. He was observing, with disapproval, how Iphicles slouched on the throne with his legs spread in front of him and was helping himself from a basket of stuffed dates. That wasn’t royal. That wasn’t kingly. Iphicles must know it set a bad example for the masses.

True, most mornings protocol was painfully correct with proper consideration given to all cases. But Iphicles would listen patiently to any argument, no matter how silly, and render verdicts that tended to be fair and slow the course of justice. Not royal. Not kingly. A very bad example. Kazon sighed, it all confirmed how much the king needed him.

This morning things had started off as usual: a husband had accused his wife of adultery and petitioned for divorce. Iphicles had cut him off and said, considering where and with whom the husband had spent last night, he could get over it. The man had gone white and fled. Next two farmers, quarreling about a goat, had been each sentenced to a night in jail for annoying the court with trivialities. The goat was sent to the kitchen. Most litigants had already heard the king wasn’t feeling well and bailed out at that point. The rest had gone when an army subcontractor, charged with failure to deliver the prototype of the new iron swords in a timely fashion, had been sentenced to death—without appeal. Kazon approved, King Iphicles was starting to shape up.

Kazon stepped out and read the charges: “Disturbing the peace, inciting to riot, public nuisance, public intoxication, destruction of private and public property…”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” King Iphicles interrupted. “Now, will someone tell me what happened?”

 

* * *

 

Iphicles sat, wrapped in a blanket, with his chin on his knees reading the walls of their seedy little room. Other people seemed to have had a good time here. Some had memorialized the occasion by scratching their names in the plaster. But with a few exceptions: _Euclid is a square. Niobe needs birth control. Theseus makes it with minotaurs,_ the graffiti wasn’t any more interesting than the stuff on an army barrack wall_._ Still, someone had carved _Fortune’s a right whore_ on the lintel over the door and it was disturbing how the words seemed to carry a weight of meaning.

He was alone because Nemetona had stomped up the stairs to say that she was going to pay a fine to get her brother out of jail, thank you both very much and Iolaus had borrowed a cloak and gone with her to see what he could find out.

Truthfully, Iphicles was grateful to be alone. No one could see him grabbing handfuls of the apricot hair Ares had been so intrigued with, twisting it and grinding his face against his knees. He should have said thank you the moment Ares woke. He should have gotten down on his knees, groveled and sucked whatever he was offered. But he’d looked at the god with the face so like his and couldn’t bring himself to say one word that didn’t make the situation worse.

His kingdom at risk and he’d tried to beat Ares at his own game. And Ares had shown him what he was worth; shown him what he thought of him; Ares had made him a woman. The worst thing was, Iphicles could still feel the god’s hands forcing pleasure on him. With powerful images of Ares bending over him, in spite of everything, Iphicles’ cunt got hot and hungry again.

_Oh, mother, I’m so sorry, there’s no way I can say how sorry. I didn’t understand. _Deep in his heart, he acknowledged how much he’d still believed his mother had made a choice to sleep with Zeus. And get Hercules. He’d always believed it had been her fault.

Up on the wall, one benighted soul had written ‘Me and Bauccus did it four times with a whore on the eve of Hestia’s festival.’ _Hope you’re burning in Tartarus with your skin flayed off_.

The light in the room seemed to be quivering. And it seemed like he was on the verge of understanding something—or else he was going mad. Swabbing his face on his knees, he wished this damn body weren’t so soppy. No wonder women never accomplished anything—always looking for handkerchiefs. His hands clenched and he yanked.The pain felt good. He wished Rena was still alive. Her body… her body had been his haven. His nose was running again. He sniffed. A mouse must have died in the wall. Then he took a deeper breath. He smelled like a woman

That made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. He closed his eyes. There was something in the sweaty tidal scent that was like the calm eye in the center of a storm. That sense of impending knowledge grew stronger. Maybe he really was going mad and in madness he could forget… No he got a cramped and had to stretch out his legs with their muddy bare feet and the knees black and blue from several falls. Touching the tender places, rubbing them, he felt familiar hard muscle under skin that was more lightly downed than his own had been.

Since he was looking between them, he couldn’t avoid the full round breasts that Iolaus and every other men kept dropping their eyeballs over. _Iolaus must have more imagination than I do._ From the beginning they’d been almost completely exposed by Ares’ excuse for a dress. _If I saw these on a woman, I’d check them out._

_Why not?_

His hands were cold as he cupped them and felt their weight. The rosy tips peeked between his thumbs and first fingers. He rubbed the pebbled skin, feeling it tingle and harden. At the same time, little thrills shot to his groin. The muscles of his groin throbbed softly, the same way they had under Ares’ fingers. He felt shame, but the threefold feeling was arousing, in spite of that. And Ares wasn’t doing it to him now. He was going to take something back.

He squeezed them until he saw a milky drop of fluid on one pink nipple. He bent his head, touched his tongue to it. Sweet and salty. Peace and comfort. He put a hand under his dress and felt the soft mound of curly public hair.

He raised his knees and spread his thighs, fingering the slit. There was a hard nub, like the pearl in the flesh of an oyster. He rubbed, but it was too sensitive, so he pushed between the smaller lips where it was hotter and slicker. That was better. His cunt, a wet mouth, kissed his finger and sucked it inside.

Within the warm cocoon of the blanket, he probed, sliding in and out, clamping down. More. What would it be like? He folded his two middle fingers and pressed the little one into his asshole. His other hand played with a nipple, twisting and plucking at it, rolling it between thumb and finger. He pushed, unaware that he’d thrown his head back against the wall, until muscles contracted around his fingers and he was coming with the swelling violence the tide. He was crying for himself as he’d cried under Ares’ hand, until he was so far out that he had to come back, still throbbing and crying ‘no’ softly to himself.

He realized that he was breathing slowly through his mouth and smiling. The thought came to him, what would it be like with both Hercules’ and Ares’ cocks in him?

He heard the key in the lock just in time to whip the blanket around him again as Iolaus burst into the room.

“Don’t you ever do anything slowly?”

For a moment, Iolaus looked at him blankly and then stuck his tongue in his cheek and said, “Yes, but you won’t be able to ask Nemie about that today.”

“Why not?” Embarrassment always made him belligerent.

“Kazon gave her brother a concussion. She’s taken him home.”

“What about Hercules?” Iphicles kept the blanket around him as he hopped up. “Did you get into the palace? What have you found out?”

“I don’t know, no and hang onto your snood. The palace is shut tighter than Pandora’s box. The perimeter watch has been doubled. No one is being let inside it until tonight. I can’t even get to my favorite guards to bribe them. You, by the way, are wanted for causing the riot, and on suspicion of being a Spartan agent.”

“A what?” Iphicles was aghast.

“Ares was doing your act in court when Kazon brought some of the rioters up on charges. Nemetona’s brother described you, before he collapsed. He said that from the way you ran, you had to be Spartan. And then, he blamed your escape on Kazon and Ares went ballistic. In other words, you’re wanted, I’m wanted, Kazon’s in the soup, and the Spartan embassy has filed a formal complaint. It didn’t seem like a good idea to stand in front of the gate with my thumb up my ass.”

“Oh, great.”

“Look, I stole some clothes.” Iolaus took a bundle over to the table. “So, I figure, we wait until tonight. With luck, we’ll get into the courtyard when they open the gates to the public. Then, with luck, we can sneak around the side and up that sneaky little passage of yours, that Jason never bothered to mention. And, with luck, Hercules will be well enough to help us.

“You’re counting on a lot of luck.”

“Tell me you’ve got a better idea.”

“No.” Iphicles shook his head. “You don’t happen to have a deck of cards in there, do you?”

Iolaus shook his head. “No, but if you can tell the future, I’ll go steal one.” He opened his bundle and pulled out bread, cold sausages and apples “Want lunch in the mean time? I helped a couple of farmers pick up some of their stuff and this just happened to fall into my bag.”

Iphicles relaxed against the wall and watched Iolaus put crude sandwiches together. The corded muscles of Iolaus’s forearms played under tan skin as he cut up bread, meat and apples. Iphicles remembered those hands, the night before, patiently washing Hercules, over and over.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why his brother loved him. For years, Iolaus had been a better friend to Hercules than Iphicles. Iolaus was honest and not afraid to put his life on the line for the people he loved. That kind of courage was beyond rubies. And Iolaus had so such vitality and warmth of spirit it was impossible to resist him. Iphicles knew because he’d tried. There’d been a time he’d told himself, Iolaus was only along to bask in Hercules’ reflected glory. He’d learned in the pit with the sand sharks that it wasn’t true.

“Hey, are you okay?” Looking up from under that crown of wild gold curls, Iolaus had caught Iphicles’ brooding, abstracted stare.

“Yes. I don’t think I ever knew you’d ever been married.”

“She died in childbirth.” Iolaus looked away. “Fifteen years ago.”

Something else they shared.

Maybe attempting to lighten the mood, Iolaus offered him a bite of apple off the point of the knife and catching his hand Iphicles was surprised at how hot it was. He glanced up and, again, Iolaus was looking away in confusion. “Iolaus?”

“I’m sorry, I seem to keep getting mixed up between who you are and the way you look.”

“Even when I’m myself?”

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I told you, he’s like a four-year old.” Iolaus waved his knife at Iphicles’ body. “You never know. This could be his idea a big treat.”

That may have been meant to lighten the situation, but it made Iphicles angry.

“Don’t. You knew what he looked like! Hercules knew! Apparently, I’m the only one in the world who didn’t know. I’ve been in battles where men were being slaughtered wholesale, and I prayed to Ares. I called on him for the courage to continue fighting and win. I thought he answered those prayers. Don’t tell me we’re just toys and this is a joke.”

“Iphicles! I’m—”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry! Tell me what it means?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing. I have a second cousin once removed, who’s my spitting image and it doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Iolaus, he tried to bribe me to kill Hercules! Could he think I wanted that?” Iphicles rubbed his forehead. The light was getting weird again.

“It’s what he wanted. God’s agendas have nothing to do with us. We can’t fight them, but Hercules does.” Iolaus turned back to the table and started cutting again. “Ares is the biggest pain in his ass. The first time they met, Hercules was in jail, Ares came and pulled the same—hey!”

The blade slipped, slicing through the apple, nicking Iolaus’s finger before it jammed in the tabletop. That was when Iphicles figured it out and he could have kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

Thinking it though would have been the reasonable thing to do, but he didn’t want to be reasonable. He was more than sick of being some god’s toy and fortune’s fool.

Iolaus was nursing his wounded finger.

Iphicles said. “Do you want me?”

Iolaus looked up. “Huh?”

“Well?” Iphicles let the blanket drop from his shoulders.

“Iphicles, for Zeus’s sake, you can’t mean…!” If nothing else, Iphicles could always say he’d rendered Iolaus speechless three times in one day.

“Answer me.”

Iolaus had stopped trying to staunch the blood and started backing towards the door making desperate motions for Iphicles to cover up.

“Iphicles, please, you make exactly the kind of female that makes me want to drop one wing and run in circles. Couldn’t you tell that when you were leaning on me in the alley?”

“Tell what?”

Iphicles took another step.

“That my cock was standing up and singing the national anthem.”

The door stopped Iolaus’s retreat and Iphicles was close enough to see the tiny beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Then you won’t mind if I…” Iphicles kissed him.

It didn’t seem Iolaus was going to respond at first. Then, his mouth opened and Iphicles touched tongue to the smoothness inside. Another tongue met his and they tasted each other.

“Iphicles, you’re the king.” Iolaus’s voice was a whisper. “But, this is not fair.”

“Forgive me,” Iphicles said. “If I’m wrong, we’ll forget about that job opening in Delphi.”

Without explaining what he meant, Iphicles traced a line down his chest and Iolaus was lost.

 

TBC


	6. Sibling Ribaldry

Hercules opened his eyes and recognized Iphicles’ chambers, but couldn’t remember how he came to be here. The immediate past was cold, pain, indignity and intrusive hands. Given the way he felt, he wasn’t going to volunteer to fight any hydras—not today. Brilliant sunlight was pouring through the open doors to the terrace, and he envied the little lizards basking on the tiles outside.

“You’re awake.” A figure stood silhouetted against the light, and he had to squint to see. The sun glinted off copper curls as Iphicles came and knelt beside him. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Yes.” His mouth was dry as parchment.

“I was going to let you sleep through the millennium, but…” Iphicles poured water from a ewer into a black figured cup and held the cup to his lips but Hercules choked on the first sip. “Take it easy.” Setting the cup down, Iphicles helped him sit up and thumped him five or ten times on the back. When the gagging had stopped, he said, “Not dead yet?”

Hercules shook his head. When the cup was offered again, he was able to swallow a few mouthfuls and object when it was taken away. “Let’s wait and see how that sits. We’ve had the fun of cleaning you up once today.”

Iphicles settled behind him and leaned chest, realizing how weak and disoriented he was. The water was a cold puddle in his belly. Iphicles’ shirt was rough against his back, though Iphicles’ body warm from the sun and the doe-skin trousers were soft. He shivered, assaulted by too many sensations and Iphicles reached around to adjust the blanket.

The wool settling across his ribs provoked a shadowy sort of tactile memory. Someone, who must have been very strong had picked him up and carried him in here like a child. Strange. He remembered feeling safe for those few moments as he’d been lifted so easily. And this was strange too, someone holding him, their cheek resting lightly on the top of his head. Most of the time, he was the one offering his strength to comfort.

The next time the cup was offered, he smiled at the little painting of a satyr pursuing a shepherd at the bottom. This time his mouth wasn’t dry and he realized how bitter the water tasted. Twisting his head, he tried to refuse it, but Iphicles clamped a hand on his forehead and kept the cup in his face, no matter how he squirmed. He had to drink or drown. Half of it ran down his chin.

As soon as Iphicles relaxed his hold, Hercules batted the cup to the floor where it shattered. “I hate that stuff. Are you trying to poison me?”

“Someone beat me to it.” Iphicles said. “Come on, it’s better for you than wine would have been.”

Childishly, he knocked his head against Iphicles’ chest. Arms tightened around him. Tightened like the coils of a snake around his chest. Fear, overwhelming all thought of where he was and who was holding him, drove him to tear himself free. The coils grew tighter. He thrashed like an animal. For a moment he was loose. Then he was seized by the forearms and no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t get away. He was being shaken like a rag doll and a familiar voice was saying, “Stop it! I’m going to hurt you.” The sane part of his mind was shocked at being weak enough to be manhandled in such a fashion. He had an arm free and was on his knees with his fist back to strike when he realized that it was Iphicles in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Hercules cried, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Iphicles was panting almost as hard as he was and there was a red patch on his cheek where it had been grazed during their tussle.

Doubling with reaction from the aborted punch, Hercules threw himself into Iphicles’ lap knocking a soft ‘woof’ from him as their combined weight hit the headboard. The ragged sound in his ears was his own breathing as he clung to Iphicles’ suede-covered thighs.

“Well, that was different.” Iphicles sounded more amused than pissed. “Are you going to throw a another fit if I touch you?”

He shook his head; his teeth were chattering. He felt the touch and, after a few moments, Iphicles said, “I guess we can take it that bondage is out?.”

Shocked, Hercules looked up at him and Iphicles smiled. “Put your head down, you look like death.”

He put his head down. The sweet smell of sueded leather made him fear he was going to be sick, but the nausea passed as his breathing calmed. “I could have killed you,” he said. “I can’t stand being held that way.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Fuck.” Iphicles said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He was gone and Hercules curled into the blanket, ashamed. Whatever Iphicles thought, he could have killed him.

Next door, Iphicles was welcoming people into the office. Voices. A report. Two people arguing and Iphicles cutting them off, telling to settle it with the Minister of Protocol and not bother him with that kind of mind-numbing petty detail. Hercules concentrated only the sound of Iphicles’ voice, paying no attention to his sick body and churning emotions.

The door shut. Iphicles didn’t return. A martial voice was speaking. It’s familiarity caught Hercules’ attention and Iphicles’ angry reply. “How blind do you have to be to lose a woman like that?”

“That little twerp got in my way…” Kazon started excusing himself.

“Find her Sergeant,” Iphicles chopped him off. “I don’t care if you have to search every outhouse, hen house and whorehouse in a nine league radius. Believe me, I won’t hear any excuses if the ceremonies are interrupted tonight!”

Woman? What woman?

The door slammed. He heard Iphicles’ footsteps moving and a drawer sliding shut.

The entire time he’d been sick, Iphicles had been in mortal danger. _He’s been running the kingdom, dodging an assassin and worrying about me_.

Hercules had both feet on the floor when Iphicles reappeared, saw what he was doing and rumbled on him. “What is it with you? I told you to stay put!”

“I heard what you said to Kazon. That girl, the one who came in my room, is that who…?”

“Ever considered _not_ carrying the world on your shoulders?” Iphicles walked over and, gave him a tap on the chest, knocking him flat. “Hard as your head is and broad as your shoulders are, you’re not Atlas. I’d like to know what you think you can do in that condition?”

He tried to get up again. If he could stand. If he could use his height to intimidate Iphicles and force him to be reasonable for his own good…

Iphicles knocked him over again. Then held him down with one hand. “Do you think you’re the only who wants to play hero? Let someone else have a turn.”

“Iph!” Iphicles was ruthlessly tucking him in.

“Give me a break. It’s too hot to for hysterics.” Iphicles said.

“Let me help.”

“If you eat something and keep it on the inside, I’ll let you get up. All right?”

“Not hungry.” Even to Hercules, it sounded sulky. Iphicles’ mouth twitched and he rubbed a knuckle over the stubble on Hercules’ cheek and turned away. Hercules gave in. “Okay.”

“Kazon’s an idiot. How can you trust him to find his ass with both hands?”

Iphicles laughed. “There’s a lot to be said for a soldier who doesn’t argue and who doesn’t think too much.”

He trusted that Iphicles knew what he was doing but neither his feelings or his stomach would stop roiling. When Iphicles came back, dressed against the afternoon heat in a black robe, he brought a tray he set beside the bed. Bread, glossy black olives and pieces of roasted chicken. Hercules said, “I don’t want that.”

Iphicles sat beside him. “Remind me to consult you when I’m interested in what you want.”

Picking up a damp cloth, he began to wipe Hercules’ face. The cotton, hot and scented with citrus, felt wonderful on Hercules’ skin and, when his face was clean, Iphicles carefully wiped each of his fingers. Bemused, Hercules watched him work.

“You look like a blue-eyed baby owl. There’s no need to be so serious.”

“I shouldn’t have gone,” he said.

“Oh stop. We both thought it would be alright. Didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Hercules said.

Iphicles finished with his hands, folded the now cool cloth and pressed it against Hercules’ eyelids and temples. “Do you remember what happened in the woods yesterday?”

With his eyes closed, Hercules tried, but the images were confusing. They’d been hunting a boar. It seemed years ago. Iphicles was gently rubbing a thumb over the tight knots between his brows. That helped. He could see the boar charging Iolaus, then changing into— “Ares was there. I confronted him. He said he didn’t kill the baby. Then—everything’s gone until I woke up here.” He shivered, “And I was sick.”

“Yes, you were.” Iphicles snorted softly. “Did you believe Ares?”

“Yes.” He leaned into the pressure Iphicles’ thumb was exerting. “He wouldn’t commit a pointless murder and he doesn’t lie.” He sighed. “But he almost killed Iolaus just for the sport and I wanted an excuse to thump him.”

“Fair enough.” Iphicles’ thumb traced the ridge of his eyebrow and drew a line down his jaw. It paused, then tapped the corner of his mouth. Hercules opened his eyes. Iphicles was tearing bread into small pieces. Offering Hercules a piece, he said, “Eat.”

Actually presented with food, Hercules’ guts almost declared for the revolution. He shook his head no.

Iphicles shook his head yes.

Hercules scowled.

“Eat, or you’ll be sorry,” Iphicles said.

Grudgingly, Hercules opened his mouth. The first few bites tasted like sawdust. Sips of wine helped him swallow. He was going to refuse after that, but Iphicles sopped up some of the olive juice on the next piece of bread that he fed him. The sharp taste was a surprise and the brine stung his throat, but it settled his stomach. When Iphicles offered him the next piece, he bit into it with more enthusiasm.

“Watch the fingers!”

“Give me some of the olives.” Suddenly, he had an appetite for the oil rich fruit. Iphicles popped one into his mouth and, when that was swallowed, broke off a piece of chicken and fed that to him. The skin was crisp, flavored with lemons, garlic and hot pepper, but it wasn’t what he craved.

“More olives.”

Iphicles’ lip quirked but he went along, feeding him olives, one by one, and offering bites of chicken that Hercules refused. “I don’t remember you being such a demanding little thing.”

“Liar,” he said, distracted. After a day of gray confusion, his senses were stirring as his body woke to its needs. Pins and needles were prickling his skin. He was focused on the food, but every time Iphicles leaned toward to feed him the black robe fell open and he could see the flat pectoral muscles softly gleaming with sweat. He smelled, under the sharp scent of the olives, the soft bittersweet musk his brother’s body was exuding. It was comforting and he wasn’t cold any more. “Liar,” he said again. “I remember your bitching when you had to baby-sit. You acted like I was born to make you miserable.”

“Weren’t you?” Iphicles sounded surprised and Hercules thought he was being teased but there was such a welter of emotion in his brother’s face that spoke to his fear.

“Don’t. I feel like I’m five years old again,” he confessed. “Afraid you’ll go off and leave me.”

“I will if you don’t eat the chicken.” Iphicles slipped a piece into his mouth.

Hercules made a face at him.

Iphicles made one back. “You were an obnoxious brat,” he said. “And you still are.”

“You only played with me when there was no one else around. Otherwise you’d pound on me or withhold olives.” He looked accusingly at Iphicles’ fingers.

Iphicles offered him an olive. Hercules opened his mouth. Iphicles palmed it and substituted a bite of chicken. “You deserved to get pounded. You used to provoke me on purpose and then go tattle.”

Hercules laughed. “At least you weren’t afraid of me.”

“Who would be,” Iphicles taunted.

“Mother was.”

“Alcmene…” Iphicles looked at him strangely. “Mother, was afraid of you?”

“A little,” Hercules nodded. “I could tell. Strangling a couple of snakes when you’re two days old, has all kinds of implications for two-year old tantrums, I suppose. I know she loved me, but she was always teaching me to control myself.” His thoughts were catching up with him. Shame was starting to do its twisted dance in his breast again. “She was right, look what almost happened.”

“You’re too easy,” Iphicles said. “Alcmene should have called you ‘guilt’ instead of Hercules.”

Iphicles made a move as though he were going to eat the last olive and then slipped it into Hercules’ mouth. The gesture was so teasing Hercules was overwhelmed. He knew the color must be flying in his face and couldn’t meet Iphicles’ eyes.

Iphicles set the plate on the floor, leaned over and kissed him with lips that were moist and soft and tasted of earth and ocean, just like the olives did. It was as though he were something precious Iphicles was reclaiming.

“I liked provoking you,” Hercules whispered when they parted. “When you wailed on me you were the only person who ever touched me as though you meant it. You honestly hated me. Except for…” He had to close his eyes because Iphicles was kissing him again. This time Iphicles’ mouth was hard and insistent and he opened to it. Iphicles’ tongue plunged in to explore as though it had never been there before. He shivered. Iphicles’ hand was in his hair again. “You keep petting me,” he wondered as the kiss broke.

“It feels like a mane.” Iphicles’ amber eyes were dark and hot and his mouth was only inches away. “I’m stroking a lion that might go wild at any moment.”

_You should talk,_ Hercules thought.

“Put your arms around me,” Iphicles ordered. “There’s nothing you can do that will hurt me.”

Hercules hesitated.

“Baby brother,” Iphicles said, very softly. “Listen to me. There’s no one around. I want to play with you.”

Desperately, Hercules blessed his poison-induced weakness and pulled his brother against him, hugging him as tightly as he had ever wanted to in his life.

And Iphicles’ passion dominated as they grappled. His brother kissed his eyelids, breathed hot on his cheeks, worried and sucked his ear lobes. Their mouths clung wetly together, tongues lapped and twined. He laughed at the exquisite sensation and Iphicles rich chuckle reverberated in his chest, making him feel as though he was coming apart. When his brother’s mouth was hot on his neck, he threw his head back exposing his entire throat to Iphicles’ strong teeth. Heat ran along his nerves, he could feel his sex begin to swell and he pushed up as his cock woke hungry and stood up looking for sustenance. Iphicles moved in his arms.

He let go, suddenly fearful that he might have been crushing, but Iphicles only shoved the covers between them out of the way. The robe had fallen off and Iphicles’ own cock, its tip glistening wetly, was dusky red and thrusting proudly into the air. His mouth started to water and he started to sit up wanting to taste it and feel that heavy shaft filling his mouth. Iphicles stopped him and tossing the robe aside, stretched out beside him, caught him under the arms and pulled him over on top. Iphicles spread his legs and asked, “all right?” He laughed as he felt his brother’s thighs enclose him, locking him within their warmth. He buried his head in the crook of Iphicles’ shoulder nipping and biting. Iphicles’ claws scraped his back leaving bright streaks of fire and he arched his back throwing his head up.

Hands urged him to explore the soft damp fur that covered his brother’s chest and the scent of Iphicles’ body was delicious. He searched and found a salty tasting nipple, and started to suck. He could feel Iphicles’ groan deep in his chest and began to tongue and bite the erect flesh into hard tips and then simply to suck on them responding as Iphicles’ hands told him where to nurse. It seemed as though a current started to flow between them that fed every empty place in his soul. They pleasured each other like and he wanted to stay there forever, but he could feel his balls tightening. He had to stop and take a breath; his body’s demands were too urgent. He collapsed into the river of sweat that was running down Iphicles’ breast. He licked it; it tasted briny and flat like the olives. Knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer, he whimpered and Iphicles stroked him, saying, “it’s all right.”

He squirmed blindly until the heads of their cocks were nuzzling each other and the soft sacs of their balls were glued together. He buried his face in the hollow of Iphicles’ neck again, biting into the skin of his shoulder. Iphicles growled, “let it go, baby,” and Hercules was pouring himself into the hot stream spreading out between them. How long he didn’t know, until realizing there was blood in his mouth he lifted his head, crying, still coming.

Iphicles rolled them both on their sides, laughing as he seized Hercules’ jaw and held him still as he licked the blood off of his lips and kissed him deeply. Every time Iphicles’ tongue pushed into his mouth his cock would spurt again. He was still whimpering lost in a white glow of pleasure when Iphicles pushed him down and fed that huge cock to him. Hot and thick, its blunt velvety head slippery with Hercules’ own juice, the smell filling his head as the slick flesh filled his mouth. “Just a little more now,” Iphicles said.

One of Iphicles’ hands held the base of the shaft keeping him from choking on its length, much as he wanted it all pumping into his mouth. The sounds his brother started making were rhythmic, hoarse and guttural, sounds the cat, he had compared Hercules to, might make. They drew him into some dark smoking heart as the rhythm consumed his body and he wasn’t afraid._ I can dance in your fire!_ Iphicles was coming, bringing Hercules along with him for a second time, in powerful bursts of hot fluid that filled Hercules’ mouth. Elated, he willingly came out of the flames to swallow as much as he could. It met a need that was almost as physical as emotional, infusing him with a warm gold heat that spread through his body like honey and Iphicles held the back of his head like a chalice as he fed him.

He swallowed what he could and, as Iphicles’ body endured its last convulsions, he licked the softening cock, probing the eye and lapping the little helmet’s rim to get every drop. Iphicles encouraged him with soft gasps and called him tender names.

When it was over, they lay in a glutted tangle, exhausted and replete. Deep inside, Hercules felt whole and well. He snuggled his face into Iphicles’ thick pubic hair. It was crisp and pungent with drying come as he sampled it with his tongue. “You taste like olives.” His voice was thick with satisfaction.

“What are you talking about?” Iphicles asked, through a jaw-cracking yawn.

“The way you taste. Earthy, succulent….” Hercules drew out the “ess” sound. ‘And solid,’ he started to say but wound up yawning deeply in sympathy.

“Oh, go to sleep.” Iphicles gathered him up, tucking him into the curled shell of his body.

“I’m being eloquent,” He buried his head in the hollow of Iphicles’ throat and closed his eyes.

“Be eloquent asleep. I’ve been putting out today like you would not believe. I need a nap and so do you.” Stricken, Hercules opened his mouth to apologize. Iphicles rapped the back of the head. “Have the guilt trip later.”

 

TBC


	7. 'Tis Pity He's a Slut

Fair or not, it was Elysian, having that lush body pressed against him. The kiss had ended and Iolaus’s cock hadn’t grasped that this was the King of Corinth in his arms. Like a lodestone, it indicated magnetic North. In this small room it was going to be a short journey. There was breath on his cheek and his ear lobe was being sucked gently. Of their own volition, his hands bunched Iphicles’ skirt up and probed deep in the sweaty cleft, honey-thick moisture bathed his fingers. The bed was right behind him and his head was filled with the compelling scent of—_Hold on. Go back to ‘probed deep in the…’_

“No!”Coming to his senses, he shoved Iphicles away. “We’re not doing this!”

“Yes, we are.” Iphicles surged back. Iolaus collided with the door again. The key gouged his buttock and, like a stone from a catapult, he shot into Iphicles’ arms.

Even as a female Iphicles was taller, outweighed Iolaus by fifty pounds and suddenly had more arms than an octopus. Hands groping Iolaus’s chest, ass, and crotch kept demanding his attention. “Don’t do that!” He extracted Iphicles’ fingers from the laces of his pants_._ Baulked, his cock made an impressive bid for freedom from the confines of its leather prison. “You’re notin your right mi…I mean body.”

“What’s the matter Iolaus? Caught a bad case of good morals hanging around Herc? You used to be so easy.” Iphicles said, as Iolaus fought for the integrity of his person.

_That’s a lie _Iolaus thought trying to hold Iphicles off. The only thing he was certain of was that this had to stop before it got them into the kind of trouble guaranteed to attract the attention of a god.

“You don’t get offers like this every day.”

_Thank Hermaphrodite!_

“Iphicles, don’t!” Iphicles was twining sinuously, making it impossible to lace himself back up. “This is _not_ happening!” _I draw the line at fucking virgin kings in crazy bodies who look like snotty gods…uh…I mean snotty kings in virgin’s bodies who look like crazy gods? Whatever!_

One of Iphicles’ hands had slipped inside his vest and was doing delightfully painful things to his nipples while the other insinuated itself down the back of his pants. “Where’s that sense of adventure you’re always bragging about?”

Over the years, to be sure, Iolaus had made happy smiles with men, women and the occasional friendly creature who could give informed consent, but he’d never been in a situation like this. This wouldn’t be the sweet thrill of discovering a woman’s body for the first time.It _couldn’t _be_. And don’t even think about first times—Herc will kill you if Ares doesn’t. _

“Give!” Iphicles ordered. His new voice was low, musical, and so thrillingly imperative that Iolaus could hear a whip cracking. On any other day, he would have fallen on his knees and worshiped Iphicles with his mouth and his hands and his cock. Today he moaned and banged his head against Iphicles’ collarbone. It wasn’t the dulcet tones making the hair on his arms stand up. It was their similarity to Ares’ on the rare occasions Ares chose to be charming, reminding him this was a life-threatening situation.

That was when he made the mistake of looking up to plea for mercy and was transfixed by sultry half-closed eyes, the pupils so dilated they were black, and by softly parted lips, flushed rose-red and swollen. It was the most wantonly, beautiful face Iolaus had ever seen, even if it did look like…_oh, no!_

“Iolaus,” Iphicles said, flexing his milky white shoulders. “You’ve been a soldier in the war between the sexes for years. You going to pass up a chance to infiltrate?”

Iphicles’ dress was still damp and Iolaus didn’t dare look down; the nipples of those full breasts would be much too close to his lips. “You were right about the breasts_. (Iphicles was reading his mind now?)_ They’re so sensitive, I’ll bet I could bring myself off just from the friction.” Iphicles cheated a leg between Iolaus’s, pressing up and rocking back and forth, turning friction into a three syllable word.

It felt so good. He heard himself whimpering. His hands were cupping Iphicles’ buttocks. It couldn’t hurt. Iphicles was easing the vest down his shoulders…_ that was better—more skin being touched._ _You bit-bastard!_ _You know exactly how much I want to fuck you. _Iolaus opened his eyes, and saw ‘gotcha’ on Iphicles’ face as plainly if it had been inscribed there in Linear B.

How, he didn’t know, but he managed to catch Iphicles’ hands and squeeze a hair’s breadth away. “Y-you’re hysterical, Iphicles; you don’t want to do this. You’ll thank me someday.” Iphicles went rigid. They were still thigh to thigh with Iolaus on the receiving end of an all-too-familiar black-eyed glare. If he opened his mouth, he’d start gibbering. _This is how a rabbit feels in one of my traps _he thought. _I’m a dead man._

“This would be a lot easier if you’d co-operate,” Iphicles said.

Then, like the sun breaking through the storm, came Iphicles’ rare, full dimpled smile.

There was a sensation against Iolaus’s belly that took him a moment to identify as Iphicles’ stomach muscles fluttering against his. Iphicles was trying not to laugh.

“Iolaus?” Iphicles said. “Do you remember that song about the Spartan girl who took the Athenian boy to her room?”

“No.” Proud, now, of his self-control, sure Iphicles was seeing how ridiculous the whole thing was, Iolaus dared relax and smile too. What happened?”

“This.” Iphicles bent down and hoisted him over one shoulder. He was looking at the floor when his vest fell over his head. Talk about getting carried away.

Any inclination he had to continue arguing was dead when Iphicles dumped him on the cot. “Iph?”

“What?” Iphicles snapped.

“Will you let me be on top?”

“No.” Iphicles put both hands under his breasts and pushed up. The dress came undone and Iolaus followed the entire slow way that bit of green cloth traveled to the floor.

Then Iphicles tumbled into bed beside him.

 

* * *

 

Iphicles could have howled, but the middle of a battle isn’t the time to show weakness_._ Under other circumstances, he’d have been awed by Iolaus’s strength of will—no horny, baby-happy gods would ever find Iolaus easy to seduce. But now, Iolaus was just lying there looking stunned, and Iphicles was in the position of anyone who’s ever gotten what they want and doesn’t know what to do with it.

His hand, brushing Iolaus’s codpiece, evoked a strangled gasp. _Contact._

‘Contact’ he’d once heard some general say ‘is the word, which perhaps better than any other, indicates the dividing line between strategy and tactics.’ It was a strategic decision to seduce Iolaus, now what was best tactical move?

_He’s aroused. Get him naked before he thinks of another excuse. _He could hear Ares’ voice in his head. _It worked with you._ He ignored that part.

The purple vest effectively trapped Iolaus’s elbows and Iphicles wasn’t ready to trust in his compliance yet. He left the vest in place and concentrated on getting Iolaus’s boots unlaced. As the second one hit the floor, Iolaus finally showed signs of life—an agile pelvic shimmy that made short work of the pants.

Iolaus’s cock, free, free at last, bounced up from its nest of dark blond curls, twitched like a divining rod and pointed at the cleft between Iphicles’ legs. Eyeing it warily, Iphicles took a deep breath and straddled Iolaus’s hips. With good intentions and a bad sense of direction the cock launched itself at the bend of his hip and thigh where it bobbed about leaving hot, wet smears. It felt alive in Iphicles hand when he grasped it and fluffed the russet curls by drawing it in an arc across them.

Knowing what he liked, Iphicles gave it a good hard pull and Iolaus closed his eyes and groaned. “When Rena and I were courting,” Iphicles spoke his thoughts aloud as he made circles below the flaring lip of the little helmet. The shaft wasn’t as long as Iphicles’ had been, but it was as thick as the first two joints of his thumb. “We used to take a blanket and go up into the hills above Phlagra. She used play with me like this.” He got up on his knees and began to tease himself, just as he remembered Rena doing, pushing Iolaus’s cock between the cleft to his center where it slipped over petals of soft moist flesh.

He rubbed it back and forth. There was a lush sliding sound that he could barely hear because they were both breathing so loudly. Briefly, he touched the spot where he’d found the pearl in his earlier expedition and tried to describe the sensation to Iolaus. “Can you feel that? Rena used to do it. It feels...good.” Good didn’t begin to describe it but it was the only word he could think of.

He pulled it away. The cock’s blunt tip was shiny with his juice and leaking tears of its own. It felt like his throbbing clit was peeking at it from the folds of his cunt. He brought it to that aching bit of flesh, just touching, making circles...over and over and….

“Iphicles,” a soft, desperate voice said. Distracted by the delicious sensation, he hadn’t noticed he’d closed his eyes. Iolaus must have been watching his face while he pleasured himself. Freed from the tangle of vest, the hunter’s hands were urging him up. “Please,” Iolaus begged/ordered. “Let me.”

The naked greed on Iolaus’s face made him spread his thighs and he laughed in sympathy with the joy in the other man’s eyes. By the time Iolaus managed to squirm down far enough that his blond head was between Iphicles’ legs, they were both laughing almost uncontrollably until Iolaus gripped Iphicles’ waist from behind and pulled him down. Heated flesh was tickled with a cool breath that felt like butterfly wings, as Iolaus buried himself, nose, lips, and chin, in Iphicles’ cunt.

His clit throbbed. A satin tongue had found it and begun making delicate swirls. Iphicles moaned. It felt like he was being washed with velvet. Arching his back, he opened himself completely to Iolaus’s kisses, chasing after the tiny bursts of pleasure that sang along his nerves. It was almost too much when he felt teeth biting gently and his hips started bucking, but Iolaus held on to him. He didn’t care. For an eternity, he rocked on Iolaus’s face, sweating in the heat, moaning, letting sweetness build.

Once, Iolaus needed to breathe, his face was glossy from cheek to chin, and Iphicles was furious. He didn’t want to stop. The salt-smell of the tide was between them. He wondered if there was anything like that abandoned expression on his own face. He wondered at his ability to wonder.

Iolaus’s eyes were focused on his breasts. The nipples were hard and pink and he took them between his fingers, twisting them hard. The sensation went directly from nipple to clit. He groaned, throwing his head back, showing Iolaus how he could harvest his own pleasures.

Growling, Iolaus pulled him back down and returned to his labor. Iphicles felt pleasure spike in his center and he must have given himself away, because teeth tested his flesh. Then Iolaus’ mouth locked on his clit and began to suck hard.

Held to the fire, Iphicles couldn’t move, but he cried out as his cunt and ass throbbed in bright ecstasy. It felt like a fountain deep in his center was overflowing.

Iolaus’s hands slipped on his sweat slick skin, turning him until he was on his back and Iolaus was between his legs, lifting his knees and spreading them. He was still caught in the waves of pleasure, but there was still a fiercer, darker hunger that only the cock, poised to push into his dripping center, could fill. Iolaus was looking at him for permission—couldn’t he see how much Iphicles _needed it_? Iphicles shoved up, demanding, and Iolaus bowed and entered him.

For a moment, he was afraid. The muscles resisted but Iolaus held back, filling him slowly. He remembered Ares saying _It doesn’t have the essential qualification. _Not to dedicate it to Artemis it doesn’t. _Trust the God of War not to screw around with virgin births_. A different pleasure, soul deep and satisfying rose inside him. He laughed and thrust back. He’d have to make a thanks-offering—later. Right now, he was breathless with his own pleasure and at the sight of the hunter’s transfigured face. Hephaestus must look like that, forging Zeus’s lightning. Beaded with sweat (drops rained on Iphicles’ face and chest), crying as though he were being pulled apart. Iolaus was obeying the orders of a power that didn’t acknowledge anything as inconsequential as a name. Then the rhythm broke and the thrusts became ragged and desperate and Iolaus pounded his seed into Iphicles’ cunt—and tripping him, for the second, into a deep pulsing orgasm.

This time, it was Iolaus who collapsed, although he caught himself just before the entire weight of his body fell on Iphicles. Breath coming in short, hot puffs, he leaned down kissing Iphicles’ forehead, eyes and mouth. His lips clung to Iphicles’ skin, leaving it reluctantly before he fell exhausted and lay there, smiling a sleepy, sated smile. He reached out and pushed the hair from Iphicles’ face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered—and fell asleep.

Iphicles opened his mouth. _Why’d you have to be so stubborn? We could have done this twice already._ Iolaus’s hand was resting, sticky and damp, on his shoulder. An impulse made him press a quick kiss on it. Somewhere, he thought, Rena’s ghost was laughing her head off.Closing his own eyes for just a second, he was asleep instantly himself.

Shouts and a burst of fire down in the throne room startled him awake.“Hercules!”_ Too late._ He was the one shouting. But it was too late.

“I’m here.” Iolaus was restraining him. “You’re all right.”

“A dream.” Just a dream. Iphicles closed his eyes, briefly, trying to recapture the scene that had left its after image burning in his mind. It was gone. Like a dream. He sighed and felt Iolaus’s hand relax.

“We only slept for a bit.” There was a kiss that tasted of a woman’s sex. “Been wishing I could do that since you fell on me.” Iolaus wasn’t smiling; there were dry white patches on his jaw. “Now, I’m trying to imagine Herc’s face when I tell him.”

“And you will,” Iphicles said.” Won’t you? You love him.

“He’s my friend.”

Iphicles watched Iolaus grow wary when he didn’t answer.

“Iphicles,” Iolaus said. “Are you going to be pissed at me for the rest of our lives, because I showed him how to catch fish and jerk off?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“No?” Iolaus’s mouth twisted. “How do you think I feel? Hercules and I shared nearly every thought and feeling we had, nearly all our lives. Then you stroll back in. Practically walk all over him. And he falls in love with you.”

“Fell in love with me or with…?”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Iolaus rode over him. “You weren’t exactly a godly vision back in Phlagra. I really don’t get what Hercules sees in you, or why he puts up with your crap, although, frankly, I think you deserve each other—you’re as full of it as he is sometimes. But _I _don’t deserve to be shut out. And I _don’t _deserve _you_ dumping self pity all over me!” Iolaus came to a halt. “Damn you to Tartarus,” he swore. “I really don’t care what you are—king or fucking goddess, but I think I’m in love with you. So give me an excuse, just one, your majesty, and I’ll turn you over my knee and give you the beating of your life with a bull’s pizzle.”

Iphicles started to ask who-the-fuck did Iolaus think he was talking to? But from the ferocious scowl on his face, Iolaus meant every word of it. Iolaus’s cock was poking Iphicles’ stomach and he remembered its thickness. _Contact._ They attacked each other. Grappling and clawing, their hands clutching at whatever flesh they could hold. Iphicles, confused by lust, piled on top of Iolaus wanting to pound into that hard little body. He was confounded by the lack of anything to do it with.

Iolaus saw his confusion and flipped him over with a crow of triumph, slamming him on his face. The bed buckled. They were against the wall, and plaster scraped Iphicles’ shoulder. Iolaus was pulling his ass up, shoving his legs apart. He could feel the cock filling him. It was what he needed and he moaned with satisfaction. The length of it ramming in and out of him. This must be how the sheath felt, perfectly fitted for the blade. Iolaus was turning his head for a kiss and Iphicles tasted his own sex again. Iolaus’s voice in his ear was gasped rhythmically, “Beautiful, beautiful, love you, cunt, love you, beautiful tight cunt.”

It was a litany and when Iolaus stopped chanting, he was holding Iphicles at a great height. “Come for me,” Iolaus whispered and thrusting slowly, building and building, until Iphicles was sobbing and coming. Iolaus too, with incoherent grunts and moans, his body jerking, driving himself into Iphicles.

When it was over, they were against the wall, completely entangled. Iphicles’ head had gotten tucked under Iolaus’s chin and Iolaus was stroking his ass. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but neither of them felt like moving.

“You know,” Iphicles sighed. “Putting up with me is one thing, but threatening to beat me with a bull’s pizzle is probably treason.”

Iolaus snickered and kissed the top of his head. “Got you all hot and bothered, did it?”

In answer, Iphicles wiggled his ass. Iolaus flexed away, ignoring Iphicles’ little noise of complaint, his look a perfect blend of reverence and impudence, and put his hand between Iphicles’ legs. A wet finger drew a circle around Iphicles’ navel. “Somehow, you haven’t managed to be on top yet.”

“Don’t be smug.”

Grinning, Iolaus rubbed the tip of Iphicles’ nose with the sticky finger and Iphicles caught it. “Smells like….”

“Don’t say it.” Iolaus kissed him.

Iphicles took the finger and sucked on it, enjoying Iolaus’s rapt expression. “Why do you put up with us—me and Herc?”

“Because both of you put it on the line—and somebody has to.” Iolaus’s expression became dreamier. “Tell you the truth, it’s fun.”

They were quiet until Iphicles asked, “You really think Herc’s full of it?”

Iolaus snorted. “Don’t you think he’s stubborn and a little obstinate on occasion?”

“No,” Iphicles objected. “I think he’s absolutely bull-headed, arrogant and…and if I didn’t love him, I’d…” He gave up. “Is it that obvious?”

“No. It took a while to figure out. No way when we were kids.”

“That was different.” Iphicles closed his eyes. “I really hated him. For so many reasons, I wished he was dead. He could scream the house down. Mother was exhausted with nursing him and running the farm. Then there he was always following me, saying ‘wait up,’ until he met you, and…I didn’t mean to come between you.”

“You’re still not getting it. It isn’t like that. We’re friends. I’m hoping, the end of my life is in a cottage with my old wife and fifteen children nagging me to death and Hercules right there saying, ‘I told you so.’”

“Be careful what you wish for, I…”

He’d stopped.

Iolaus, who’d been watching him carefully, said, “Iphicles. What’s the matter?”

“When you showed him how to jerk off—did he pick it up quickly?”

“Yeah, after he could sit again. He was so cock-proud of himself. At the academy once, he challenged a bunch of us to try and hit the ceiling.”

“What happened?”

“Chiron caught us and showed us why some women prefer centaurs. It took him down a notch. Stop trying to distract me.”

“You remember, when we were kids, that blind old prophet, Teiresias, who lived outside of town?”

“Yes.” Iolaus said. “Mean old bastard was always whacking me with that staff of his and telling me I’d come to a bad end. It gave me the creeps because I could never figure out how he knew where to hit.”

“He used to come by the house, caging meals and telling Mother how the women were going to sing at their spinning of Hercules’ deeds, and of the woman who bore him. He used to say I didn’t deserve my good fortune. You can’t imagine how that felt. But did you know how he got his power of second sight?”

“Never hung around long enough to ask.”

“I did. One day, he said, he came across two snake copulating and struck them with his staff. After that he worked in Thebes for seven years as a temple harlot.”

“Oof!” Iolaus grimaced. “That must have been one ugly ‘ho’. I hope you’re not planning on emulating him.”

Looking up, some poor bastard had climbed all that way to the ceiling to write ‘Lalage cheated me – but it was worth it.’ Iphicles laughed. If she had, it wasn’t her fault. “When I wasn’t wishing Hercules was dead, I used to wish for what he had. Something—anything that would make me special the way he was—get the village off my case.” From the look on Iolaus’s face, he was thinking Iphicles had finally shipped both oars. “I could get a job downstairs, some people feel this is a holy place. Teiresias used to say women got the better deal sexually. He was right.”

Despite the space limitations, Iolaus made as though to strangle him. “Not funny. Someone’s trying to kill you, maybe wipe out your entire family. This isn’t the time for jokes and being obscure.” That was when Iphicles saw the anger in Iolaus’s eyes replaced by dawning astonishment. “Y-you’re saying that y-you…?” His stammer got worse when Iphicles nodded. “You -you m-mean y-you can see the future?”

“Yes! I saw you and me. Years from now, alive…and Hercules.”

In the silence, Iolaus grabbed his wrists and jerked him upright. “Hercules what?”

“Dead. I could almost see it.” He felt exposed and furious again and if Iolaus squeezed his wrists any harder, he was going to break them. “Then I looked at you and I knew—because there was a voice telling me—if we screwed, it would change something.”

“Did it? Do you?” Iolaus was demanding.

“If I look I see all kinds of things. If I listen I hear voices. But it’s all broken up like a mirror and I don’t know how it fits together.” Iphicles suddenly jerked. “We have to get to the ceremony tonight!”

“We have time.” Iolaus assured him.

Iphicles only knew Iolaus’s acceptance had broken him, because he was gathered in Iolaus’s arms, sobbing.. He finally got control of himself. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then some Olympian butt to kick and they won’t let us near a fishmonger’s stall, smelling like this. How do we get a bath?”

Iolaus laughed. “The rain barrel for us, your majesty.”

Getting out of the bed, with it canted toward the wall, wasn’t easy. Iphicles wound up wiggling off the end. Even with Iolaus’s help, he landed on the floor.

“I’ll get a bucket and be right back.”

Iolaus was looking for his pants and didn’t see what Iphicles did, until Iphicles took his arm and showed him. Together, without saying a word, they shifted the mattress and discovered the dead woman. She’s been placed against the wall, wrapped in a blanket that had fallen open. They could see her face dusted with plaster; her mouth and eyes, wide and innocent with the shock of death. “But I saw her downstairs this morning.” Iolaus touched her cheek. “ She’s been dead longer than a few hours.”

“I know her. That’s Androgeus’s wife, she came into Hercules room last night,” Iphicles said. “Let’s get out of here.”

They put the mattress back, propping the bed the best they could. But they hadn’t finished dressing when Kazon walked in.

“It’s too bad,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him and drawing his sword. “But I was hoping to find you here.”

“What’s too bad?” Iolaus confronted him, waving Iphicles back.

“That you’ve been poaching Iphy’s quail. Can’t say I blame you. I like big girls too, but this one’s been nothing but trouble.” Kazon was very man-to-man with Iolaus, ignoring Iphicles completely.

Iolaus was edging toward the table where the hunting knife still lay, with the lunch they hadn’t eaten. Iphicles was closer. He snatched it up, trying to signal _we can take him_. But Kazon lunged at him. It wasn’t a serious jab. Iphicles parried it easily. But it terrified Iolaus into putting himself between them. _Stupid, _Iphicles thought,_ that’s what he wanted! _

“Turn around.” Kazon had the point of his sword at Iolaus’s throat.

Iolaus turned. “Did the king send you?”

“He doesn’t have to. It’s my job to take care of these things.” Kazon jerked Iolaus’s arm up between his shoulder blades. “You weren’t in my plans, Shortie, but you’re an awfully convenient scapegoat for when I find the bodies.”

Iolaus gasped. Iphicles started to say, “If I...”

“Put the knife down.”

“This is treason.”

“Shut up, bitch. You should have stayed in the kitchen, then you wouldn’t have run into the man who raped and murdered you.” Kazon pressed his sword against Iolaus’s throat, drawing blood

Iphicles put the knife on the table. He’d seen that look on the faces of soldiers when the orders are to take no prisoners. As Iphicles stepped away from the table, Kazon clubbed Iolaus with the butt of his sword. For a second, Iphicles thought he was going to kill him where he fell. But Kazon had his priorities, indicating, with the sword for Iphicles to get on the bed.

“You going to rape me?”

Kazon shook his head. “Wouldn’t go near a swamp like you. Don’t worry, it’ll be quick.”

_Oh shit!_ _Oh fuck!_ _Let’s take our time. _Throwing himself back on the bed, _I’m sorry_, Iphicles spared a thought for the dead womanas he spread his legs and showed Kazon everything he had._ You like big girls, do you?_

Kazon stopped as though he’d been pole-axed. And still didn’t move when Iphicles put his hand between his legs and began fingering his cunt. But the sword bobbled in his hand, and Iphicles saw the slow flick of his tongue. He held up his fingers to show how wet they were. “The King,” he said, putting the middle finger in his mouth. “And his brother. They both had me.” Kazon was breathing through his mouth as Iphicles sucked on his finger. “One after the other. Then at the same time.” He took a chance and closed his eyes, rolling his hips. “There’s nothing like being fucked by two men at the same time. There’s nothing else like it. I had a king’s cock in my ass and a demi-god’s….”

“Fuckin’ Athenian whore!” Insane with rage Kazon lowered his sword and started fumbling with his belt buckle. “No fuckin’ whore’s bastard is going to sit on the throne of Corinth!”

_Zeus, you’re a fanatic!_ _What in Tartarus are you on about? _

The Sergeant’s belt fell. He undid his cuirass still talking. “You’re asking for it. And I’m gonna give it to you good and then I’m gonna...”

The breastplate dropped. Kazon unlaced his pants. His cock, when he pulled it out, was stiff, with a tip the color of raw liver. _Things I could have gone my entire life without knowing _Iphicles decided.But he sat up and licked his lips lasciviously. _C’mere sucker. Come to Mama. If you’re close enough to fuck, you’re close enough to kill. _

Pulling on his cock and handicapped by the breeches hanging around his thighs, Kazon hobbled closer. He should have looked ridiculous, but Iphicles found nothing funny about it. For a moment he thought _this isn’t going to work_. That Kazon was going to stab him. But, rather than rape encumbered by the sword, Kazon stuck the weapon between the end of the mattress and foot of the box-frame.

Iphicles could see the bone handle of the hunting knife jutting beyond the edge of the table were he’d set it. It was only a few inches, if he could reach…Kazon grabbed his hair and jerked his head up, presenting himself.

Sucking cock, except Hercules’ was an activity Iphicles had avoided since boot camp. There was a reason for it. Damn few were as sweet as Herc’s and Kazon’s smelled like old goat cheese. His disgust must have shown in his face. Kazon slapped him.

Furious, Iphicles made a mistake and reached too soon for the knife. Kazon had been expecting the move. He swung his hand back flipping the knife to the other side of the room, then went to work beating Iphicles. “Think you’re too good for a real man, do you? Athenian bitch!” With every word, Kazon slapped him and stars exploded in Iphicles’ head.

He was flat on the bed when Kazon climbed on top of him and bit his breast. But the pain lifted Iphicles to a pitch of fury he hadn’t known he was capable of. _In the last two days, I’ve had a demi-god, a god and a hero. You’re nothing! I am not having you._ Kazon was lifting his legs, spreading him for brutal penetration. Iphicles knew what he was going to do and as Kazon pushed, he rolled back on his shoulders and wrapped his legs around Kazon’s neck. _Close enough to fuck is close enough to kill._ Locking them, he twisted.

Making a gurgling noise as he tried to wrench Iphicles’ legs apart, Kazon fought for his life, but Iphicles hung on. He could hear Iolaus’ calling him. From a distance. No time. He squeezed harder. Was that sound Iolaus scrambling on the floor? He couldn’t afford to be distracted; the sloping angle of the bed reduced his leverage. Iphicles saw the glint of steel over Kazon’s back and felt Kazon jerk as it penetrated. Gritting his teeth, he twisted, and with a sickening crack, Kazon’s neck broke.

Everything was like a wax tableau until a drop of sweat from the dead man’s face fell on Iphicles’s shoulder. The body sagged. Iphicles put a foot under it and kicked it to the floor. When he could sit up, he saw Kazon staring at the ceiling in dumb astonishment with the 3 inch paring knife Iphicles had stolen from the kitchen, protruding from his side.

“Iph...?” Iolaus was wheezing.

“Now I know why Herc never liked the guy.” His face was hot and puffy. There was blood on his belly and thighs and no time to reassure Iolaus. Iphicles staggered to the window, leaned over the sill and vomited until his guts were cramping. As he hung there gagging, he saw parked below, one of the honey wagons that went about Corinth collecting the city’s night soil. The driver, no doubt, was skiving off inside the Dryad. Iphicles turned around and pointed at Kazon’s body. “Help me.”

Iolaus took Kazon’s arms and Iphicles took his feet and they hauled it to the window, hoisted it over the sill and let if fall. There was a satisfactory splash when it hit the wagon’s trough. “With any luck, nobody will find that for a few thousand years.” Iphicles said, then leaned against the wall and slid all the way to the floor. No way in Tartarus, he was getting near that bed again.

Iolaus folded up beside him. “You all right?” Whether from the pressure of Kazon’s sword or something else, his voice was damaged. “I wouldn’t have thought of killing him like that.”

“Should’ve been able to nail the bastard s-sooner,” Iphicles said. The sound of a dry stick breaking was still in his ears. As a soldier, he’d slaughtered men in the heat of battle. On orders, in cold blood. But the intimacy of this death left him useless and he was afraid he was going to get sick again. “I-I haven’t got the hang of this female thing yet, but you go with what you got. I don’t understand why Ares sent him, he could’ve had me…could’ve had both of us last night or this morning.”

“Not his style.” Iolaus shook his head. “Or we’d be in a line for ferryboat tickets right now. But, Kazon knew who you were.”

“No. No, he was saying something about a whore’s b-bastard on the throne...” Iphicles realized. “He thought I was some Athenian whore.” The remnant of the dress green he’d dropped long ago was near. Iphicles picked it up and began wiping the blood from his legs. Sweat. Sex. The funk of fear and blood. They stank to Olympus. It proved they were alive.

“Where’d he get an idea like that?”

“The kitchen. I told them in the kitchen.” From where they were sitting they could see the form of the dead woman under the bed. Iphicles’ hands started shaking and he dropped the rag.

Iolaus picked it. He picked up, as well, the thought Iphicles had dropped and started through the maze on his own. “So who would have sent—

Iphicles started laughing. His laughter tapered off as the shards started tumbling too fast for him to comprehend. From a distance, he heard Iolaus begging, “Iphicles! Not now—no visions! We’re running out of time!”

 

 

TBC of course…

 


	8. The Fundamental Difference

It was peaceful in his brother’s arms, breathing the perfume of their bodies. Hercules stayed there as long he could before easing himself from the bed. When he returned, Iphicles, still on his side sleeping deeply, had reached into the place Hercules had been. There were purple smudges beneath the fan of Iphicles’ eyelashes and the lines bracketing his mouth were cut deeper than two days ago.

Hercules vowed,_ When this is over,_ _I’m going to make you take a few days off. We’ll go fishing or sailing and Corinth can go hang._

He stretched, working the kinks out of his back, enjoying the sheer pleasure of being able to move without pain. His clothes weren’t anywhere in sight but he’d find them later. A sheet had fallen on the floor. He picked it up, knotted it around his waist and went out to share the last of the sun with the lizards on the terrace.

The tiles were hot under his feet were and the city lay dormant beyond the palace walls. Corinth waited for night, when all the shops and taverns would reopen, to conclude the day’s business over food and wine. But there was a bustling in the courtyard below that drew him closer. It was servants setting lamps. People would gather tonight for the formal pronouncements of the new trade agreements and to watch the processions of gaudily dressed foreigners make their departure. The new treaty with Sparta would be a surprise for everyone—war had seemed inevitable. _Iphicles won’t be remembered as a great hero-king, the way that Jason is,_ Hercules thought, _but every mother who has a son will love him._

The wind picked up, whipping his hair about his face, stinging his cheeks and eyelids. He made to brush it back and saw the healing red scar on his wrist where the spear’s poisoned barb had stung him. He rubbed it against his mouth.

“I don’t want you out here.” An invisible finger drew a line down his spine. He bridled like a startled horse at the sound of Iphicles’ voice behind him. “Come back inside.”

Hercules didn’t move.

“Mule.” His brother said, coming behind him and slipping powerful arms around his waist. Hot skin pressed against his back and soft wool against his thighs.The knot holding the sheet came undone and it slid down his thighs. Hips undulated gently against his buttocks, teasing his ass with their promise just as his brother’s hands had teased him earlier in the day, feeding him olives.

He covered his brother’s hands with his own. His thumb told him the difference between the new flesh and the old before he turned them. A scar, like his, marred the sun-browned skin of the right one.

“Tell me he’s alive.”

A hand broke from his grip, skimmed his chest, and pinched one tight nipple. Pain shot through his gut. “You want me to tell you how it was with him? Is that it?”

“You raped him, too.”

The cheeks of his ass were probed.

“Little brother,” Ares laughed. “You can’t rape the willing.”

“You lying son of a cow!” He gathered his strength, welcoming the rush, anything, anything that would sweep away the tide of cold fear he was drowning in.

“Watch your mo—!”

Throwing his head back, he tried to crack Ares’ skull and missed but the arm still around his waist squeezed the breath out of him. A python with amatory intentions was embracing him. The coils tightened and Ares’ sigh was a knife across his cheek. “Do you want to know what I thought when I saw that blasphemy of a face?” He was being penetrated. “I thought, let him know what a god really looks like.

“That’s what you’re thinking about, isn’t it?” His mouth was too dry to even say no. “Me taking him, bent him over his own desk. He begged for it.” Fingers were sliding in and out of him. “Until he began screaming. Do you want me to tell you how he screamed?” The thought of Iphicles dying in Ares’ embrace—his eyes flaring like candles, his skin turning red, his bones vaporizing—the smell of…

_“He’s alive.” _

By the time the midnight voice penetrated Ares was shaking with silent laughter. “You are too easy.” The fingers out of him and if Ares hadn’t been there, he would have fallen, gasping for breath. Ares was saying, “I don’t know why, but I haven’t had enough of you yet.” Hercules could feel a hand between his legs rubbing the velvet pouch of his balls. “Turn around. I want to kiss you.”

Wanting to scream he was going to rip Ares’ head off and stuff it up his ass, the words wouldn’t come. Hercules had to turn. They were face to face and the light of the sun, just touching the horizon behind them, caught Ares’ face, gilding it. It was Iphicles’ image

It was when Ares held his hand beneath Hercules’ nose, so heavily fragrant with musk, that Hercules finally caught his breath but he still couldn’t move. And with both hands, Ares cradled his face briefly. Then began stroking his neck and chest, thumbs spread wide, rubbing his nipples, measuring his ribcage, shaping the zone of his waist. He did try to pull away then but Ares held him, genuflecting to chase the rim of Hercules’ navel with his tongue and falling to his knees.

Even seeing Ares’ brash nose buried deep in his light brown curls, Hercules couldn’t shove him away. He almost lost his balance, though, when Ares’ tongue searched his sac and fondled the eggs inside it, making him jerk with the sensation on his swollen flesh. But Ares wrapped his arms around his knees and held him up and his tongue churned around Hercules’ cock urging him to give in.

He hung, metaphorically, in the air, wondering how was it possible to hate someone so completely.

Watching the dark head bob, he buried his hands in the tangle and it wound like silken floss around his fingers. Catching himself playing with it, he flexed his hips, desperately holding his cock out of reach.

Ares looked up and Hercules Ares’ cock framed in black fur, between spread knees, pointing like a spear at Hercules’ heart. The wind picked up, wrapping around his arms and legs, chilling the crevices of his body. _Choke then, damn you!_ He forced his length into Ares’ mouth and began fucking him hard, grunting with each thrust. Three times. The god’s seed, shot up in a silvery arc and scalded his thighs. Knees buckling, he came too and Ares, drinking what was pouring from him, caught him as they fell rolling on the tiles.

When it was over, he was drenched and shaking but one of his hands was still trapped in Ares’ hair. There was a purling noise like a contented cat makes and a soft rhythmic lashing on his cock that made him untangled himself and push up on an elbow to look at Ares washing him. From under his brows, Ares caught him, gave a last lick and said, impudently, “Do I get that kiss now?”

Hercules cocked his fist and gave the god of war two short sharp jabs as if he were knocking the cork from a wine keg. Blood cascaded. Then he leaned over and kissed him so that Ares was painted like a clown when he drew back. “Had enough?”

“Not hardly.” Hercules cocked his fist again. Ares put up his hand. “Hey! Is that gratitude? After I hauled your sorry carcass home and tried to help that stiff-necked brother of yours.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re impersonating him.”

“I said, he’s alive.”

On the horizon, the blazing witness to their conjunction was driving his chariot home. There was the blat of a trumpet being tuned and Hercules sat up cursing. Ares offered a hand but Hercules scrambled to his own feet.

“Before you go off like a half-cocked catapult again, do you remember I told you the spears were poisoned?” Hercules nodded warily. “While you were sleeping it off, there was another attempt on the little king’s life.”

“I should have been here to protect him.”

“I was,” Ares said.

“Why did you bother? If that treaty isn’t signed tonight, Corinth and Sparta will be at war before spring.”

“And normally I’d say what’s the problem? But I don’t like being used. And you were fun. So much fun, it was worth…” Hercules turned away when Ares showed his bloody smile again. But Ares grabbed his hand, twisting it to show their matching scars. “Wake up and read the dead sheep’s liver, little brother. A god wants your brother dead.”

He had to ask, “Is it Hera?”

“No.” Ares boxed his ears. “Trust me, you don’t want to be in the sandals of whoever gave her baby boy a headache.”

The clout was more reassuring than an elaborate denial would have been. Hercules’ ears were ringing but he wasn’t going to be distracted again. He knew guilt when he saw it on Ares.

“Tell me where he is and what you’ve done.”

“I swear, sh-he’s as stubborn as you are. What makes you think I’ve done anything?”

“I know you.” Hercules pointed out.

Ares examined his hand, probably wishing he’d clouted Hercules harder with it. Finally, he said, “I felt it would be better if…no, I _thought_ it would be better if he were somewhere safe.”

“Where would that be?”

The response was mumbled.

“I didn’t quite catch that.” Hercules was willing to take it one step at a time, but Alcmene would have told him to stop grinding.

“The kitchen.”

“Kitchen? You mean the palace kitchens?” Ares nodded. He didn’t meet Hercules’ eye but it was easy to surmise that, “Iphicles is not in the kitchen, is he?”

Ares shrugged and crossed his arms. “He took off.”

“Let’s see, you sent the king of Corinth to the kitchen.” Hercules said. “Just out of curiosity, was he supposed to peel eggplants while he waited for a knife in the back?” Ares shrugged again, as though he couldn’t understand such wanton disregard of common sense, and Hercules exploded. “Smooth move, Belisarius! Did you inform the Parthians where he was while you were at it?”

“It was supposed to be temporary. If he’d stayed put, he’d be safe!” Ares lowered his head and thrust it forward like a bull. They were chest to chest and, almost, nose to nose. “Your bother is a little impulsive!”

“Wow! News flash from Marathon! Did you tell him a god was involved? I mean another one. You didn’t, did you!”

“I was busy!” Ares yelled back. “I had my hands full. Of you.”

“Oh.” Hercules drew back with the skin on his cheeks prickling.

Ares enjoyed his discomfort, finally relenting to say, “She hooked up with Iolaus. I sent Kazon to find them.”

Hercules grabbed that like a life preserver. “Then he’s safe!”

“Ha! That’s a case of the blonde leading the blond.” Ares wheeled around “Pick up your sheet and come on. We’ve got work to do.”

“What do you mean ‘we’ and…?” Hercules picked up the sheet. “Why do keep saying ‘she’?”

 

* * *

Iolaus could have cut his tongue out. _We’re running out of time! _Of all the useless things he could have said. _Yeah, and that hydra just grew another head!_ He balled up the green rag and stuck it under Iphicles’ head, hoping Iphicles would be sane when he opened his eyes. What was Iphicles seeing— convulsing like the Pythia in the throes of a full-blown vision.

_Iphicles understood he’d been sent him to his uncle’s house early in the day to get him out of the way. He’d been furious and that was why when his fourteen-year-old cousin Demetria had come running to say the baby wasn’t there and that Aunt Cera had to come now! he’d followed them. If there was no baby, his father might come home. _

_But when he got near the house, he heard his mother crying and he’d tried to run to her. One of the women caught him and told him to go wait in the barn. After that, they’d ignored him. He’d hidden from the noise and the fear and worry radiating from the women as they muttered about Hera’s wrath. _

_Burrowed in the hay out in the barn, he’d still heard the final shrill scream at the end. Afraid that his mother was dead he’d run inside. Aunt Cera was putting the squalling bloody infant into a large clay pot. Demetria told him his mother was all right—they were going to take the baby out and expose it. If they didn’t Hera would punish them all—now go to bed._

_In his room at the back of the house, he’d lain in the dark fiercely glad, because if it hadn’t been for that baby his father wouldn’t have left and people wouldn’t call his mother names. Everyone hated it and he hoped it died because it would be terrible to be so lonely. For a while he’d heard people moving around and the sound of his mother crying. Then it had gotten quiet. It was just a stupid baby. That was when he’d burst into tears and cried himself to sleep._

_It was still dark when he woke from the wind whistling and crying like a terrified animal outside. he’d thought about how small the baby looked as Cera put it in the jar. She’d have taken it up the hill, close to the woods by the road. That was where people left unwanted babies because a traveler might pick it up and take it away. It was the law. Any abandoned baby could be taken up, and if you raised it, you didn’t have to give it back unless you were paid. He was just going to look when he crawled out the window. He hoped it died._

_He’d started climbing. For hours it seemed. It was the same hill he played on every day, but he’d never been out here at night before. In the dark, everything was different and the bracken scratched his legs. It was cold. He didn’t want to cry—stupid baby was probably dead. _

_That was when something hidden in the wind ran by him. He couldn’t see what it was, but it knocked him over in the dirt. He screamed and crouched because there was wild laughter, howling and giggling. The air kept rushing about as though it contained invisible people. It did. There was a crack of lightening and he saw the man in a helmet standing over him. He would have screamed again but his father wore a helmet with a high crest like that and just for a moment, he thought—be fore powerful hands swung him into the air. The wind dropped. In the silence, the stranger said. “Deimos, you idiot, this is the wrong one.”_

_A white haired man stepped out of the darkness. And another. Twins. Iphicles saw from their eyes that they were insane. A woman too. She smiled at him._

_The man who was holding him looked human and he was warm. Iphicles wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, buried his head against the man’s shoulder and hung on for dear life. They all laughed, including the stranger who was holding him and that made him mad again. So he stuck his head up and glared the way he did at the boys in the village, daring them to laugh. The white haired man called Deimos made a face at him and he stuck out his tongue back. The man laughed. “He isn’t at all afraid. Maybe I should take this one too.” He could feel the man’s voice rumble through his body._

_A rough new voice spoke. “Enyalios, we’re too late, they’ve found it.”_

_This one had horns and hooves and hairy legs and a dong that hung almost hung to his knees that it pulled it nervously waiting for his lord to stop cursing. _

_Iphicles shivered too. He’d never heard cursing like that but he knew if he said even one of those things about his father, his mother would wash his mouth out with the laundry soap. But the whole time the man cursed, his hands kept stroking._

_Finally the man stopped. He held Iphicles up. Iphicles could see that his eyes were black and shining through the slit in the helm. “I wish you were mine, little prince, but you’re not and looks like the fates mean us both to miss our chance. Let’s get you home and we’ll see what happens.”_

_He woke up in his own bed with the dream forgotten. _

Until now…

Even when it was over, Iphicles’ body twitched as though he were riding a wild horse and when his eyes opened they looked, to Iolaus, as dark and as smoky as if he’d stared too long into a fire. “Iphicles?” he whispered.

“Help me up.” Iphicles was groping for him.

“I’ll get some water...”

Iphicles’ fingers bit into his shoulder.

“No, just help me up.”

Iolaus helped him to the window and Iphicles leaned on the sill, looking out down the street where the red front of the palace could be seen across the square. A stunning array of bruises now decorated Iphicles’ body and, again, Iolaus asked, “Are you all right?”

Without answering, Iphicles drew back from the window. Below, there was altercation going on between the driver of the honey wagon and an old man berating him for parking in his spot. The driver gave way for the old man’s donkey cart after an exchange of mutual pleasantries. As Kazon’s funeral claque disappeared around the corner, Iolaus said, “Good riddance. Do you want some water now? Or, I could get some wine….”

“Wait,” Iphicles said.

Iolaus waited, suddenly feeling more helpless than when he’d watched Iphicles being racked by the vision. Being helpless was the one thing that could make Iolaus feel small. He knew it. It was what drove him to fling himself at monsters by Hercules’ side, or grab sullen gods by the shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattled. The woman—the king who’d needed him—was gone. Iphicles had drawn into himself, standing there with his hand covering his stomach.

But back in their village, when they were boys, he’d snatched his crumbs of comfort from pastry stalls and other kid’s hurt feelings. Because Hercules’ blue eyes had shown pain too clearly, or else because Herc had been stronger than a grown man by the time he was seven and had punched Iolaus’s lights out a few times, Alcmene’s god-found bastard had been his friend. But there’d been Iphicles, gangly and sullen-mouthed—a perfect target that just clenched his fists and walked away when someone pointed out that Hercules was stronger and Hercules’ father was a god. With an unerring sense of where to stick it, he’d done his bit to poison the relationship between the brothers. It was a relief when Iphicles finally turned around and looked at him.

“Let me you some wine,” he begged.

“Not yet,” Iphicles said. “Tell me about something, last night, when you said Ares would just go ‘poof.’ You believed that?”

“Yes. He’s stubborn and jealous and he hates getting caught with his peplos showing.” Iolaus’s tentative smile at that wasn’t met with an answering one; he finished hurriedly, “Usually, he just goes away until he thinks we’ve forgotten.”

“Well, he didn’t go ‘poof’ this time.”

“Then he’s really pissed about something.”

“What? What would make him stay and pretend to be me, putting up with the crap that goes with being mortal, for even one minute much less for a day and a night?”

“I don’t know—something impinging on his godhead.”

“Something impinging on his godhead. God of war.” Iphicles was looking out the window again. “If Ares really meant business, we’d be a smoking pile of ash in the center of a mile-wide crater. Collateral damage wouldn’t begin to cover it.” Iphicles seemed to be talking to himself until, out of the blue, he snapped, “Tell me about your friend Nemetona.”

“Nemie?”

“She’s a friend of yours?” Iphicles was impatient. “She never married?”

“Yes. When she was fourteen, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened? Was he killed in the war?”

“She doesn’t talk about it. Her family owns this place, so she works here. Why do you ask?”

“Because, you never know with people. For instance, Kazon was a big fan of the monarchy. He could recite the names and dates of all the kings of Corinth and when they took the throne. Their consorts. Their children. Who ‘they’ married. He even collected souvenir medals and coronation drinking cups, and whoever set him up, knew exactly which buttons to push.”

“And here I always thought he was a complete ass wipe.” Iolaus scratched a fleabite on his thigh. He noticed Iphicles had put his hand on his stomach again and went cold. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen us having twins.” He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it.

It must have been the last straw as well, for Iphicles who rounded on him, seizing a handful of his hair just where Kazon had clubbed him, and screaming, “Got a problem with triplets? I swear by my crown, one more dozy remark and whoever says it is out that window, dead or alive. You are hot, Iolaus. But no one has offered _you_ money to show _your_ pecs. _You_ didn’t have to listen to Kazon ranting while he tried to rape you. _You _didn’t have Ares…Ares…have…” _make you female._

“Iphicles, I am so sorry.” Iolaus was close to tears. “She was so young.”

“I know.” Iphicles released his death grip and looked out the window again. “Corinth is in danger and it’s my fault. But if this gets out, there’ll be comic songs in every agora in Greece. I’ll be the laughing stock of the entire peninsula. When I get my hands on that sneaky, lying, arrogant, priaprismic…” Iphicles stopped. “There’s one more thing. And that’s between us.”

“What’s that?”

“Hercules.”

“Hercules?”

“You said, you loved him.”

“I do. He’s my friend.” Iolaus looked at the floorboards, polished smooth after many years. “Are you going to be pissed at me for the rest of our lives, because I was the one who showed him how to jerk off?” Iphicles didn’t answer and Iolaus went on, “I’m still hoping, that the end of my life is in a cottage with my old wife and fifteen children nagging me to death.” He looked up. Iphicles was smiling. Fuck all gods and kings anyway. He’d have crawled to Athens on his knees over ground glass if Iphicles had ordered him. “Want me to tell you about the time at the academy Herc challenged a bunch of us to try and hit the ceiling the way he could?”

“What happened?”

“Chiron caught us and showed us why some women prefer centaurs.”

“Iolaus, how is it, no one’s murdered you?”

“Good fortune and native charm. Look, if we sacrifice a goat to Hermes, or something…”

“Chill.” Iphicles was laughing. “If we can get to get into the palace, it will work out.”

“You’re still Corinth’s Most Wanted. You can bet the guards near the gate will be looking at every woman, with or without a short escort. Maybe we can dye your hair and go in separately—”

Iphicles raised his hand. In the silence, a floorboard creaked.

Kazon’s sword had fallen behind the bed but Iphicles scooped up Iolaus’s knife and tossed it to him, pointing at the door. Iolaus was there, as it flew open and Nemetona stalked in. Seeing Iphicles by the window, she screamed, “Bitch!”

Of course she had a knife.

“No!”

Iolaus slammed the door and Nemetona whirled around.

“Don’t try to stop me or I’ll cut your nuts off too.” The glitter in her eyes was as sharp as the point of the blade she was swinging, wildly.

Iolaus ducked.

“For Zeus’s sake, Nemie! Watch what you’re doing!”

“Then get out of my way! That bastard nearly broke Clamydius’s skull. Where is he? I know he’s up here!”

“Who?” Iphicles inquired. He was staying prudently by the window assuming an air of kingly detachment that, under the circumstances, Iolaus found annoying.

“The cheap bastard who....” Nemetona stopped and looked at Iphicles. Then she looked at Iolaus. “You didn’t think I meant you, Iolaus?”

“Perish the thought.” He’d didn’t care to remind her of her earlier threat. “Kazon was here but he’s—ah—gone. Left.”

“Hades take him!” Nemetona stuck the knife back in her belt.

“Who’s Clamydius?” Iphicles said.

“My brother,” she said.

“Why not file a complaint?” Iphicles said. “You can appeal to the king, have a hearing and…”

“Screw complaining,” Nemetona said. “I’m to cut his nuts off.”

Iphicles moved away from the window. “Get in line,” he said.

“Honey, what hap—?” Iphicles let his bruises speak. “You want a piece of him.”

“Yes, but he’s gone back to the palace,” Iphicles said.

“If he thinks he can hide there under Iphicles’ skirts, he’s got another think coming. We can dig him out.”

“There’s a reception tonight. Guards will be crawling all over the place and there’s a warrant out for my arrest.”

“So,” Nemetona said, “you’ll want a bath before we go.”

 

 

TBC


	9. View to a Broad

The détente—if you could call it that—wasn’t going well.

“A slip of the tongue,” Ares said.

“Yeah, bite me.”

Hercules went on storming around the room. With each circuit, it seemed to be get smaller but his clothes had to be here somewhere. The sheet was back on the bed and he was desperate for some barrier, even a symbolic one, to contain his feelings.

He believed Iphicles was alive; it wasn’t possible Iphicles could be dead and he not know it. And he believed Ares when he said he didn’t know where Iphicles was. But, after a lifetime of finely honed antagonism, he also knew when Ares was trying to pull a fast one. The curly head dipped, the pirate brow flew and Ares’ voice became—‘deeply and profoundly sincere’ was one way to describe it—but so was ‘sticky.’ The honey had been oozing ever since he’d asked what Ares meant by ‘she.’ It followed that if Ares weren’t lying, he was hiding something and much as Hercules wanted to choke the truth out of him, every time he looked at that smirking face, he found himself overwhelmed with confusion. His cock wanted something else.

“Will you settle down!” The command came from under Iphicles’ desk where Ares was on his hands and knees, rooting through the wine-soaked documents someone had stuffed under there.

“No!” Hercules almost trod on him as he went by. “Let’s just figure out who’s most likely to pull a stunt like this and confront them.”

“Because, that would be all of us.” Ares, popping up with a scroll in one hand and wiping his nose with the other, could have been talking to a particularly backward child. “We need to smoke them out.”

“And if you have a plan, how about sharing.”

The red border of Ares’ robe flashed as he stood. Hercules would see himself in Tartarus rather than look. His pacing took him to the other side of the room. He wasn’t going to go near the desk again. But, like a shuttlecock, he kept turning toward it.

“You’re making me dizzy.” Ares spread an inviting arm. “Come take a look at this.”

“No.” Hercules shook his head. “I want my clothes. Where are they?”

“They were disgusting,” Ares said. “I had them burned.”

“And I’m supposed to wear what?”

The tip of Ares’ tongue showed. “Why spoil perfection?”

Revolted, Hercules turned and planted his elbows on the commode. There was a basin on it, half full of water, from which some horrified stranger was staring at him.

“I didn’t notice outside, but you blush all the way to your…?”

He knew where he blushed and dropped his head in his hands. Covering his ears, he still heard the crackling noise of the scroll being unrolled out and could picture Ares bending over it, the robe falling open… Would it be so difficult walking around with a permanent erection? Ares seemed to manage. _Behave, damn you _he ordered parts south. “We’ve got to find him.”

“We will—in due time. Now, how many there are in the Athenian delegation?”

“What?”

“I said, how many Athenians?”

“Twelve. Maybe.” With an effort he summoned the numbers. “Eight clerks. Three diplomats. The ambassador. I think their ambassador had two nieces with him. It doesn’t matter, they all had two nieces.”

“Just tell me were they’ll be standing when the treaty’s announced.”

“Left of the throne, across from the Spartans so they don’t get their noses out of joint and everyone else can keep an eye on them.” There was a chest next to the commode where Iphicles kept his clothes. There might be something that would fit him. He knelt to look. “What are you doing?”

“Reading over the treaty provisions—this is good. Same numbers for Sparta?”

“Give or take a niece, and, if it matters, Androgeus will have his wife with him. I know she’s got something to do with…” He stopped speaking because he’d found the blue shirt their mother had made for Iphicles’ birthday.

“I thought you ‘liked’ blondes.” Behind him, Ares’ voice was low and nasty.

Ignoring the jab, Hercules picked up the shirt and held it close to his face. But the fabric was saturated with Ares’ bitter god-smell—no trace of Iphicles. He wadded it up and was going to stuff it back where he’d found it, when he saw what had been hidden underneath—a heavy gold wreath so delicately made he could see the veins etched in each oak leaf. When he picked it up, the acorns vibrated to his heartbeat on their fragile stems.

“What’s this?” He turned.

Ares ignored him.

“Agamemnon wore this when he led the Greek states united against Troy—it’s on all the vase paintings. What’s the crown of the Acheans doing here?”

“Agamemnon’s been dead for ten years. He doesn’t need it.”

Slowly, Hercules’ fist clenched. The crown twisted and began to crumple. Then Ares looked.

“Stop that or I’ll have to hurt you.”

“You already have.” Hercules squeezed harder.

“All right.” Ares straightened, his body flashing inside the robe. “I tried to bribe Iphicles with it to kill you.”

_Ah_. This was the half-brother he knew and hated—manipulative, vicious and playing every angle. There’d been a time he might have believed Iphicles capable of taking such a bribe. The crown was now a tangled mess in his hand. “I’m going to look for him. Iolaus has friends here and…”

“For some reason—one that escapes me—he said no.” Ares came around the desk and took the ruined circlet from him. “Look, whoever’s trying to kill him, has to do it before this document is signed. If you go stomping around playing hero, we’ll lose our chance.”

Ares reached to lay the crown back in the chest, brushing close. The musky scent was strong again and Hercules cursed his treacherous aching body. “I’ve got to do something.”

“You will,” Ares said. “Someone’s ass has to dent that purple cushion tonight.”

He must have looked as blank as he felt.

“Come on,” Ares’ expression mocked him. “This isn’t the science of concentric spheres.”

“You can’t mean…I take Iphicles place.” After what happened in Phlagra? “No!” He utterly rejected the idea.

“Yes,” Ares said. “This treaty has to be ratified by the king—or by his heir.”

“You do it,” he said. “You’ve proved you can pass

“But, I am not the King of Corinth’s heir. You are. As for passing—” Ares raised his hands and it was like velvet being drawn over his skin. “Trust me, nobody will know you weren’t born twins.” The hair on the back of Hercules’ neck was up. He tried to slide by, but Ares slapped a hand on the edge of the commode trapping him. “No, you don’t. This is your brother’s triumph. You have no right to take it away from him.” Hercules snorted his disgust. Ares lowered his voice seductively and went on. “If he pulls off this alliance, there’s every chance that piece of highly important pre-historic art you just trashed will be his anyway. How’s he going to feel if it’s all stuffed down the crapper because his brother, the famous demi-god’s got a little problem with crowds?” Leaning still closer, Ares said, “I know letting someone use you for target practice, may not be as heroic as going boldly around the countryside fighting monsters and righting wrongs, but…”

“Fuck you!” Hercules said. He wanted to tell Ares where to shove it, but Ares was right.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Hercules wasn’t going to dignify that. When he didn’t answer, Ares pitched closer though he’d been braced for a blow that didn’t happen. The velvet rope tightened. Hercules closed his eyes. The touch, when it came was butterfly soft and he opened to it fully, letting Ares’ tongue inside his mouth. Their arms were around each other, but which of them was clutching at the other more desperately and who was that moaning—

A knock interrupted.

“Your Majesty?” The guard’s voice, outside, quavered. “Would you like…?”

Ares whipped around and roared. “Fuck off!”

“Yes, your Majesty.” There was the quick tattoo of retreating footsteps.

“Faugh! If those were my minions, I’d have whipped them into shape by now.”

On any normal day the palace’s staff, most of them entrenched since Jason’s time, would have been in and out of these rooms as though they lived here. There’d been too many nights he’d listened to Iphicles complain that the domestic cadre was worse than fifty mothers. “They’re worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself.” _Who was? _His reaction to the knock and Ares’ shout had been to bury his face in Ares’ shoulder and hold on. How tightly was he gripping? He was still chilled by the memory of Alcmene saying to a four-year-old, as she’d taken the small furry thing from his hand. _It’s dead, Honey. You’ve got to be careful; you’re so much stronger than everyone else is._ Yet Ares was so gloriously unbreakable in his arms that…

It wasn’t quite the same shock with which he’d woken to the fact that Iphicles was missing with Ares’ arms around him. But it was close.

“Idiot,” he said.

“Who’re you calling…?”

“Me,” Hercules laughed. _The wonder is we’ve ever been able to keep our hands off of each other._

Ares’ divinity called to his blood, as his humanity called to the god’s design.

With the thought forming, he saw the answering smile fade from Ares’ eyes. Sometime it had seemed as though Ares could read his mind and now the temperature was dropping and gusts of wind were starting to swirl, picking up snow white feathers. The treaty blew off the desk. It skittered across the floor.

“I think,” Ares was drawing away. “I’ll just kill everyone and let Hades sort it out.”

And Iphicles had the nerve to accuse _him_ of only seeing things in black and white! Hercules was fully alive to the swelling aetheric storm. “That’s a _little_ extreme,” Hercules whispered.

The air was actually crackling. The top of the chest fell sharply. Hercules was terrified and, at the same time, unbelievably aroused. He tried to hold on to Ares but his hands were slipping as some force repelled them. What was he going to do? Fight? Why not? They’d both called this thing between them hate and Olympus knew he was entitled to a few good licks. This wasn’t the time to stop and explain to Ares that love happens, but it’s not a good reason to total a city. Whatever he was going to do, had to be done fast; His eardrums were about to burst.

Letting go, he was almost thrown back, but he held his ground.

Ares stood there with the hair on head writhing, cock-proud as a corona of blue fire blazing around him.

Hercules dropped to his knees like a man before his god and put his head on the rough glittery schist.

Fire came down. His skin crisped. His bones melted. His blood vaporized. Yet he contained it fusing himself with the power that tryed to howl through him. The pain he expected but not the sweetness.

_Oh, shut up!_

_What?_

_If you don’t bring the roof down first, you’ll have the entire palace in on us. They won’t be able to appreciate the sacrifice you’re making as smoking heaps of ash._

There was rue in the voice tapering off. Hercules simply opened his mind to the radiance and let time pass.

The thought violated the union of their power, threatening to split them apart.

Give up this beautiful dancefor a climax, however pleasurable?

_No!_

_Yes! _A hand stroked across his mind, his breast, his belly and cock. His ass contracted as someone screamed in his ear. He didn’t care. He was screaming too, spilling himself all over the stones as the fire poured out of him.

He was on the floor, drenched with sweat, and cum was leaking from his ass. The rapture was over. The weight pressing him against the charred stones lifted as Ares rolled off of him. The feathers began to settle on top them.

They lay side by side, looking at each other.

“You’re not going to…”

“Apparently not.”

“Find him.”

“I’ll try.” Ares wrinkled his nose as if something tickled. “What if I can’t?”

“I’ll do what you want.”

“Deal.”

Their hands reached and a tiny blue spark jumped between them.

Ares sighed. “You know, I’ve gotten virgins to come quicker than you.”

 

* * *

 

What bliss! Iphicles let his head fall back. Nemie’s breasts were like pillows and she was rubbing his shoulders with lavender scented of the oil. Rena had been right, a hot bath and a massage were as good as a man any day. Screw all gods, he was going to stay right here wrapped in this fluffy clean towel.

“You know the best thing about women?” he said.

“What?” Nemetona’s sounded as though she already knew the answer.

“They’re _not _men.”

“Thanks be to Artemis for that.”

The sincerity of her prayer was interrupted by a rude snort from the tub where Iolaus was soaking and watching them with his head on the rim.

“So. No invitations and no money for bribes. How are we going to get in the palace, Nemie?”

“Easy. Uncle Myron delivering the wine for the reception tonight. We’ll go with him. ‘Gina and I can squeeze on the bench and there’s a false bottom in the cart under the amphorae where you can hide—they never check deliveries.”

Before Iphicles could ask why there was a false bottom in the cart, Iolaus whooped, “Crazy Myron, who thinks he’s Zeus? I heard he got caught fucking that donkey of his.”

Nemetona gave him a dirty look. “That was a mistake. Myron’s seventy. He’s nearly blind. “Once we’re inside, we slip through the kitchen, blend with the guests, find Kazon and…” She made a slicing gesture at crotch height. Iphicles didn’t even wince.

Instead, as Iphigenia, he wondered out loud, “Why don’t we just petition the king?”

“Because Iph would insist on a fair trial. Men stick together, the animals. They only want one thing from a woman.”

There was a ruder snort from the tub.

Iphicles and Nemetona both looked over there. Iphicles squinted and pronounced. “Yeah. They ‘all’ think they squirt magic gism.”

“I would resent that,” Iolaus said. “But, when you’ve got it…” Pointedly, he closed his eyes and began to snore.

“He is good isn’t he?” Nemetona said into Iphicles’ ear,

“You mind?” Iphicles murmured back.

“No. I knew he wouldn’t keep his hands off of you.” Her fingers were gently working a tight spot on Iphicles’ back. “You’re beautiful and little guys are so energetic.”

“They sure are,” Iphicles agreed. He smiled as the fingers worked their way lower. “Once you get them going.”

The steady rhythm of snoring skipped a beat.

Nemetona slipped her hands under Iphicles arms. As she began to knead his breasts, her breath was steamy in his ear. “I know they say it’s not the meat it’s the motion, and I know Hercules is your cousin and everything, but…like, he’s a demi-god. Haven’t you ever…I mean, weren’t you ever _curious?_”

“Yes.” Iphicles couldn’t help himself. He held his hands out about 12 inches apart and they both started giggling madly. “But it’s not the same as a woman.”

“No, it’s not,” Nemetona said and kissed him.

The sound of snoring from the tub ceased entirely.

 

* * *

 

By maintaining a discrete distance they could stand side by side and look in to the basin. Little blue sparks still arced between them whenever they got too close, and that was happening a lot so they were jumpy. It hadn’t helped that the washbasin was producing useless images. A cart trundled down the road toward the city’s largest cloaca. The outside of a tavern. A room inside with an unmade bed. Now two women he didn’t know; a brunette giving a blonde a back rub.

“That’s another wrong room!” Hercules snapped.

“You said they’d be at Wriggling Dryad.” Ares’ temper was short too.

“That’s not Iphicles _or _Iolaus.”

“Thank you, Aristotle.”

“Focus!”

“I’m trying. Maybe you should—” Ares went to wave the surface clear.

“Wait!” Hercules grabbed his hand. Maybe they were on the right track after all. He’d recognized the brunette as Iolaus’s friend, Nemetona, when she straightened to wipe hair back from her face. Then she bent to play with her friend’s breasts.

“Whoa, good call, bro,” Ares said, and Hercules, who thought all of his nerve endings had been permanently seared, felt his nipples start tingling.

Riveted, they watched the blonde raise her head for a kiss. She looked familiar. Ares sucked in his breath. Hercules said, “You know her?”

“Apparently not.”

Probably one of the whores who worked at the Dryad. Iolaus had probably screwed her sometime or other. With that apricot hair she should have been impossible to forget. The kiss was long and deep.

“Oh, mama.” Ares moaned. “There’s something about two women together that really turns me on.” His thigh brushed Hercules.’ No blue spark.

“Really.” Hercules caught himself. “I mean, really?” In the pool, the women were getting more involved and he tried to be objective. “Do you imagine they’re putting on a show for you?”

Ares made a thoughtful noise. “No, that’s not it.”

No spark snapped as he slipped an arm around Hercules’ waist and pulled them closer.

It felt good. Hercules let himself lean as they watched Nemetona work her way down the blonde’s belly with the point of her little pink tongue.

“Is it, with two women, you can imagine sex free of the power games and ego tripping that seem to be inevitable between two men?”

“It just turns me on,” Ares said. “Don’t over think it.”

Hercules nibbled his lower lip. Ares’ hand was cupping his butt. A finger was gently, if possessively, rubbing his sore asshole. “Maybe,” he mused, “it puts you in touch with your femininity.”

Ares looked at him. “Definitely not.”

Well, whoever Nemie’s friend was, she had the sort of ripe, perfect lips Hercules loved to feel around his own cock. They were soft and full like Iphicles’, gently parted and rosy with sex like Ares.’ He could imagine the short breathy moans she must be making.

He nudged. “Don’t you get sound on this thing?”

Just then, there was another knock at the door. This time accompanied by the more authoritarian tones of Iphicles’ Chamberlain. “Your majesty? It’s nearly time. Do you need some help?”

“Sorry, babe, looks like it’s show time,” Ares said. “Better, get dressed.”

Given a pat on the ass and a shove toward the alcove, Hercules didn’t see Iolaus appear naked in the scrying pool and join Nemetona kissing and mouthing the blonde’s body. He didn’t see Ares’ scowl as Iolaus’s hand slipped between the barmaid’s legs (one was already working between the blonde’s). He did heard Ares slap the water and mutter, ‘He should be so lucky.’

He didn’t think anything of it because the Chamberlain was calling, “Your majesty? Your ministers are here. The procession’s forming. Sergeant Kazon’s awaiting your pleasure.”

He stumbled as power had hit him in the back and Ares barked, “Enter!”

Then either a herd of aurochs was stampeding out there, or the entire general staff was trying to shove into the office at the same time. He was struggling with Iphicles’ breeches when they surrounded him. The guards in freshly polished armor, ministers and secretaries in their best robes, Kazon in his plumes, chambermaids—and they all caught him with his pants half way up. The chamberlain was wanting to know if his majesty would like a light snack and the chief of protocol was saying they needed the official copy of the treaty right now. He would have run, but there was nowhere to run. And at the back of the pack a tall honey haired man was laughing his ass off.

Me?

That’s me?

With that dip in my chin?

And the chambermaids all checking me out, when they’re not ogling…he looked around but yes, they were looking at him.

He pulled his pants up and there was a collective indrawn sigh. He started fumbling with the laces and an aggrieved, incoherent babble began. It rose higher until a woman’s piercing voice cut through and Hercules recognized the head laundress informing them all that the king’s ceremonial raiment had been ready for hours, with no one seen fit to send for it. There she was, advancing on him, a snowy white shirt in her hand, and a dangerously maternal light in her eye.

Fortunately, a soldier Hercules recognized as the one who functioned as Iphicles’ valet, on those occasions Iphicles let himself be persuaded he needed one, wrestled the shirt away from her. But someone produced a doublet, heavily embroidered with gold thread. The crowd closed in and he was dressed. Boots. Here Where was the crown? The ceremonial sword? The crown was on his head. The crown was off his head. Let the barber work! He looked like a shag-bag. Here was the sword being belted around his waist. This dagger? No That dagger was strapped to his hip. Whose hand was that straightening the seam of his pants?

Over the tops of heads, he saw ‘himself’ handing the treaty to the minister of protocol who hurried out with his secretaries. On the edge of the mob, Sergeant Kazon was trying to tell him that woman hadn’t been located, but they’d set up a perimeter even Hermes couldn’t get through.

“Good,” he managed. “Keep up the good work, Sergeant.”

Kazon left with his mouth set. Ares was right, there was something to be said for soldiers who didn’t ask questions. They could find the damn woman later. That made four less in the room, but he was still being assaulted by too many people with frustrated parental instincts. One of them was dabbing Iphicles’ favorite lime and cypress perfume on him. And, oh, yes, the chambermaids were there too, waiting to change the king’s bed linens from last night. Would his majesty like the bed linens changed now?

The babble died.

Bed linens?

Last night?

The fates must be rolling on the floor. _Oh, Father, help,_ he prayed.

Trying to sound regal, he avoided looking at the disarrayed bed. “I’ll tell you when I want the bed linens changed—and, I want them changed now.”

Everyone, except the giggling chambermaid, seemed impressed—at least there was an aura of approval in the room.

He was still being combed out when someone brought him a plate of those little Anatolian sweetmeats he knew Iphicles loved. He hated them. But he hadn’t eaten since Ares had hand fed him that morning. He reached and ‘Hercules’ was suddenly beside him, bobbling the plate. White powdered tidbits went all over the floor.

“Not those. You can eat later,” ‘Hercules’ said beneath the flutter of cleaning them up.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

“Don’t whine; I just saved your life again.”

‘Hercules’ was still wearing his black robe.

“Shouldn’t you be getting decent?” he said, loudly.

And while the hairdresser finished tidying him, Ares became the secondary object of everyone else’s attention. One Hercules was glad to see emerge from the flurry looking harassed and reeking of patchouli even if, somehow, he’d wound up in black leather.

“I’ll get you for that,” he was told.

“What do they think they know about last night?” he hissed.

“They think you got lucky.” ‘Hercules’ winked.

“Did I?” He was shocked at the hot green knot of pain that bloomed in his chest at the thought that Iphicles might have slept with Ares.

“We’ll talk.”

“Bet on it.”

“You working with me here or not?”

He was missing some pieces. He just knew it. But the crown was on his head and torches, flaring in the antechamber, gleamed off the armor of the honor guard. He took Iphicles’ place and ‘Hercules’ was half a step back on his left. The ministers of state and secretaries all followed in order of rank. As they passed between the rows of servants, Hercules saw the laundress wiping her eyes.

 

TBC – but, like Herc, you just knew it.

 


	10. Deus Ex Machinations

Eyes all a-flutter, a finger to his chin, Iolaus cocked his head and inquired, “Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?”

“Not even a skiff.” Nemetona rammed his prow, and went back to knotting her girdle.

Iolaus jerked the bright yellow mantle from his head. “This is never going to work. I look like a tart.”

“I guess you are what you eat.” He was wearing Nemetona’s dress; she was insulted.

During the late afternoon, the guard had appeared in force on the streets. It had become clear that, not only was someone in the palace searching for a big-breasted blonde, she was accompanied by a short man with curly hair who went by the name of Iolaus, aka ‘the golden hunter,’ alleged associate of the king’s brother, Hercules, last seen wearing purple pants, a patch-work leather vest, a charm on a leather thong around his neck that may or may not be a piece of an old-fashioned war helmet, known to be armed and dangerous, and…some sort of disguise had become crucial. But, from the moment he’d had been forced to give up his trousers, Iolaus had been dragging his heels and moaning and complaining.

“What’s the matter now?” Iphicles turned his attention to the hold up. They were running behind schedule and he was beyond indulging anyone. Looming over the scowling Iolaus, he said, “What’s the matter now?’”

“This outfit makes me look fat!”

Iphicles made a noise reflecting the value of that. “And?”

“And I’m ugly.”

“And this is not the Helen of Troy look-a-like contest.”

“Nobody’s going to mistake me for a woman!”

“Are you sure you aren’t afraid they will.” Iolaus dropped his eyes. Softly, very softly, so Nemetona wouldn’t hear, Iphicles said, “I told you to be careful what you wished for.”

Iolaus confronted the mirror. The truth was, dressed in a bright red tunic, one of the long ultra-fashionable ones, with a little padding to give him a figure, he made a neat little package. He straightened his back and adjusted his bosoms.

“That’s right,” Nemetona said, “tall, short, round or thin, men only notice two things about a woman.”

“Hey!”

That Iphicles might have been right, was confirmed when Uncle Myron’s cloudy eyes brightened at the sight of them. They were all dressed to kill, with Iphicles looking classical in a plain white Doric peplos and blue mantle for his head and Nemetona a pocket Aphrodite in green and yellow. She’d done things with pots of color to their faces. But it was Iolaus that Myron chucked under the chin. “You’re a cute little thing,” he said. “Wanna see my thunderbolt?” Myron spoke in the stentorian tones of the deaf.

“Myron!” Nemetona called him to order.

Dirty as he was, the old man had old-fashioned, almost archaic, manners and insisted on helping Iolaus into the box under the cart before giving Nemetona and Iphicles each a hand onto the bench seat. (What an odd squeak Iolaus had let just before the cover dropped.)

“Myron!”

Grumbling about respect and the younger generation, he climbed up beside them and slapped the reins over the back of a shaggy donkey. “Gee up, Apulius.” A solid wooden wheel found a rut, the cart lurched and they were off.

It might have been possible to see the facade of the palace from the Dryad’s window, but by one of Iphicles’ own laws, intended to make the city more livable, delivery carts had to stay off the main streets, approaching the palace through a maze of unpaved back alleys. There were reeks down those alleys that would stun you on a battlefield three days after the fighting ended in August and it wasn’t long before Iphicles began to regret the plate of sausage and peppers he’d eaten before they left.

Worse he discovered that while Nemetona favored a light Jasmine scent Uncle Myron smelled too. As they approached the first check point, a bump sent the old man sliding closer. Iphicles caught a whiff and choked.

Myron patted Iphicles’ thigh. “Don’t see why your little friend wants to ride back there. Plenty of room up here.”

The hand loitered. Iphicles growled, “Move it or loose it, you old goat!”

“What’s that?” Myron said. “Speak up. Not deaf you know.” _Except when you want to be._ Iphicles suspected.

“What’s in the cart?” The guard, apparently familiar with Myron, addressed Nemetona.

“Wine for the reception tonight.”

“Better show me your pass.” Myron began fumbling in his tunic. “You girls ain’t seen a tall blonde accompanied by a short guy wearing purple…”

“No, Demosthenes,” Nemetona said, “What do you want with Iolaus?”

“Not me. Brass Ass wants to talk to him about some broad he snuck into the palace yesterday.” On that thought, the guard gave Iphicles a once over. “Hey, who’s your friend, Nemie?”

“My cousin from Thebes.”

“Nice ones!”

During the time it took to find the tattered scrap of parchment, Myron might have been playing with himself. Finally it was produced and the guard waved them on, calling, “Wanna party later?”

“Maybe.” Nemetona yelled back, “Maybe we’ll get a better offer from the king.”

“Haw, haw. Not so long as Iph’s planting the flag on Mt. Hercules.” The man had the most irritating laugh Iphicles had ever heard.

Did he need more proof that his sex life was everyone’s business?

As they rolled away, Iphicles asked Nemetona, “Does everybody in Corinth think Herc and m—I—yah—‘Iphicles’ are doing it?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Other than the fact that everyone in Corinth knows it? Look at the two them!”

Iphicles sighed. “And how does ‘everyone in Corinth’ feel about it?”

“‘Boys will be boys’—except for old the hens who always go on about Athenian decadence—if one of them would get an heir.”

“Give them time. They both lost families.”

“Who hasn’t? It looks really stupid that one of them can’t even produce a bastard.”

“Iphicles has got a thing about bastards.”

“Well his ‘thing’ is making Corinth a target for every ambitious tyrant, warlord and petty king in Greece. As long the baby had balls, no one would care if he knocked up a hydra.”

Iphicles forgot himself, wailing, “Doesn’t anyone in this town care what I want?”

“Honey, what you want doesn’t matter!”

Subdued by his slip and her asperity, Iphicles brooded until they’d cleared the nest check point. Both times that they were stopped Myron’s pass got them through. Both times a torch was passed over the surface of the amphorae. But, not once, did a guard tap the bottom of the cart or check any of them for weapons. When this was over, he was going to make security a priority. As they clopped past the wall he’d scrambled over that morning, Myron was singing off key _“Zeus’s balls are forged of iron and Ares’ balls are cast in brass.”_

“I shouldn’t have said that about what you wanting doesn’t matter, honey.” Nemetona sighed. “You can’t help being female.”

“It’s just that, sometimes…I want my own way.”

“Then become a holy Hestal Virgin and keep away from gods, kings and men.”

“Too late.” Iphicles couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe I’ll go to Scythia and become an Amazon.”

“Come on, Cornith may not be Scythia, but it sure isn’t Athens—you know how they practice birth control there.” Nemetona snickered. “It’d be a crime to break up that set of boobs. Marriage isn’t so bad, if you can pop a couple brats. And, as Iphicles sister, you’d get respect, even if…”

_“Poseidon’s got a fishy dick, he only lets Hephaestus lick…”_

“That you, Myron?” The guard at the kitchen gate must have heard them—you’d have to have been dead not to.

“Who else you expecting at the back door?”

“The king of Parthia and all his minions from the way everyone’s behaving today.” As the guard unlocked the gate and Iphicles could hear his steward calling, ‘_Dion! Ajax! The wine’s here!’ _

The plan had been to free Iolaus as soon as the cart was empty and slip through the kitchen. As soon as Myron drove through, they were they were surrounded by people willing to unload, but the guard had followed them inside and was keeping a eye on them. Either he was the only security conscious man in the entire force or—“what ‘cha doin’ later, Nemie?—he wanted a date.

“You, if you let us in to see the show, Acletus.” Nemetona, as ever, was direct in what she wanted.

To his credit, Acletus refused. “Not tonight. We got orders and Iphy’s been a horse’s ass all day.”

“But I want to see him and Prince Hercules all dolled up,” Nemetona wheedled. Then she slipped off the bench, practically into his arms. “There’ll be music.” She bumped and flaunted her hips. “And I know how to be grateful to my friends.” She reached out and fingered a buckle on his corselet. “Nobody’s gonna know.”

“I could get my ass posted to the Parthian border…” Acletus looked like he’d been smacked by a catapult; Iphicles made a note of her technique.

The buckles were being undone as they disappeared into the shadows.

Even if the guy didn’t have an ounce of Iolaus’s stamina, he may as well have a last fling, Iphicles reflected—the climate was harsh in up Parthia and the natives shot to kill.

“Wanna see my thunderbolt?”

Iphicles had forgotten Uncle Myron. “No!”

“Then get your little friend out of that box an’ let’s get a drink.” The old man began clambering down from the cart. Iphicles made a snatch at his tunic but he missed somehow and Myron went shuffling off toward the kitchen. The only thing to do was hop down and get Iolaus.

“That old goat felt me up!” Iolaus sat up complaining.

“Good.” If Iolaus was looking for sympathy, he’d find it in a lexicon.

“I feel violated!”

“Save it. We’ve got to get moving.”

“Where’s Nemie?”

“Saying ‘hi’ to an old friend.”

“What if someone stops us?”

“We’ll say we’re looking for your favorite uncle.”

“Hey!”

They were inside, enveloped in the heat and smells of roasting meats and baking. If the kitchen had been a busy and bustling place that morning, tonight the clanging of pans and people shouting made it more like a quartermaster’s station during a battle. Myron was nowhere in sight, but in the middle of the chaos, waving her spoon like a marshal’s baton, was a small woman Iphicles recognized.

“Marcos, if the wine’s here, get it poured and watered. Vina, the bread’s burning.” Turning, she screamed at a boy who was doing some broken field running with a tray over his head. “Patrocolus! I told you to get those codfish cakes to the east reception room an hour ago. Drop them and your balls will garnish the next platter!”

If Uncle Myron could waddle through this circus without being spotted…Iphicles and Iolaus began edging along the wall.

“You!”

The little general meant them and very cook, baker, souse chef and scullion was looking where she was pointing that spoon.

“We’ve lost our uncle,” Iolaus said. “He’s bewildered.”

“No uncles!” Cookie roared. “Throw them out!”

Knives glittered.

“No,” Iolaus cried, desperately, “we brought the wine.”

“So?”

“We need Iphicles’ signet on the receipt.”

“Liars! Assassins! Get them!”

They were coming.

Iolaus jumped in front of Iphicles to protect him. But it was Iphicles ripping the mantle from his head that brought the culinary army to a halt.

In the silence, Cookie cried. “Honey! Thank Hera! Iphicles is going to marry you!”

“For get it,” Iphicles said. “He’s not my type.”

“But, you should see what they’ve done to those rooms.”

“Who?” Iolaus said.

“Prince Hercules and the king.”

“What have they done?”

“Completely trashed ‘em…they’ve been fighting all day—say, who’re you?”

“Her sister.” Iolaus grafted himself to a dubious stalk.

“The looks sure didn’t run down hill, did they?” Cookie said.

Iolaus scowled.

“Why?” Iphicles said, “were Herc and Iphicles fighting?” And the palace still standing.

“Jealous. You could hear them shouting through the walls, plain as day, when they weren’t…”

Cookie’s hand, the one with the spoon in it, was pumping up and down—up and down.

It had to be a mistake. In Iphicles’ fears, Hercules had still been the invalid of the night before. In his worst fears, Ares had taken advantage of that fact, but not…“I’ve got to see him.”

“Of course you do, honey,” Cookie said. “We’ll take you upstairs after the reception.”

“No, I have to see him.”

Hercules couldn’t have known.

“They’re making some big pronouncement and….”

“Now.”

Hercules had to have known.

“But…”

“Please…” He couldn’t control the trembling of his lip. That wasn’t a tear running down his cheek? It was. He flicked it away. “I’ve just gotta see him.” His voice was broken.

“Oh, for Zeussake,” Iolaus hissed, sotto voce. “That’s cheating.”

“You got a better move?” Iphicles snarled. He was three times furious because everyone was suddenly misty eyed and begging Cookie to relent.

“Let her…”

“We can take her up the back…”

“…the gallery.”

“…nobody will know.”

“C’mon, Cooks, she’s going to be queen.”

“All right.” Cookie surrendered. “But, if this gets out, they’ll fry my boobs in butter.” _Yours and mine both,_ Iphicles didn’t say.

That was when Nemetona came running in, wiping her mouth and calling to Cookie, “Hey, Aunt Theora!” And Iphicles knew he should have guessed.

So, with Cookie, Patrocolus, and the cod cakes added to the gang, they all set off to see the king.

Up the warren of narrow passages and stairs that connected the back of the palace to the front. Iphicles had an idea where they were going. Fifty years ago the main hall had been raised a story and the extension had left a gallery half way up. The staff used the corridor behind it to get from one side of the hall to the other. At last Iphicles understood why room service was always cold.

At one point they stopped and let a chambermaid squeeze by with a basket of sheets and Iphicles recognized his personal linen. At this hour? “What’s she doing with those sheets?” he whispered.

“Richel’s going to use them to make fertility charms.” Cookie told him. “Can you imagine how strong they’ll be with the jism that got all over those things today.”

Eileithyia might help the women of Corinth. No one was going to help Hercules when he got hold of him.

“Quiet,” someone said. They’d arrived behind the gallery where the wall was broken by a series of arched openings. Usually the arches were only covered by tapestries depicting the foundation myth of Corinth. Tonight there would be a guard posted in front of every of them. Tip-toeing to the end of the corridor, to where it turned, they came to the set of peep holes some more paranoid ruler had cut into the stone. By feel and by height they arranged themselves. Iphicles, tallest, had a hole to himself with a full view of the hall below, where the court and the delegations were gathered.

He could see the fire burning in the central hearth and, although, he thought he’d been prepared, it was a shock to see himself seated on the throne beyond it. Did he always look so haggard? Or was that some little fillip of Ares? Hercules stood by his side and it doubled Iphicles’ resentment that, not only, had Ares coerced Herc into attending, he’d pried him out of those tiresome yellow shirts. His brother was wearing an ornate black vest that was slashed with silver. No! That was just _wrong_—Hercules never wore black. There was movement around the throne. The Prime Minister was presenting a scroll. The ‘king’ was rising. They were actually announcing the treaty!

“Look!” Nemetona jabbed him in the ribs. “There!”

She’d spotted Kazon standing back from the crowd. And in his extended arm extended was a spear aimed at the ‘king’s’ heart. Nemetona was screaming. Iolaus was already running for the stairs. And the guards, hearing the commotion, were pushing back the tapestries, responding to the wrong threat. Iphicles didn’t move. Experience told him that cold iron point would find its mark in his brother’s chest.

Because he didn’t move, he saw the spear leave Kazon’s hand, and the lightning strike. At the top of its arc, the shaft exploded. Then the bolt came down, enveloping Kazon in white fire.

The assembly, rigid as the frieze on the Parthenon, was showered by burning splinters as Kazon’s body collapsed on the stones.

At the other end of the hall, ‘Hercules’ leaped up, punched the air and yelling, “Got the owl-eyed bitch!” Then he began to dance.

There was the odor of fused meat and metal. A familiar smell penetrated. Someone touched Iphicles’ shoulder and he slammed himself against the wall beside the peep hole.

“Looks like you could use that drink,” Myron said.

Iphicles nodded. He followed the old man down the corridor, passing statuary: Cookie, Nemie, the guards in various attitudes of panic. The air was reluctant to let them by.

Iolaus was on his knees at the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he’d tripped over the hem of his mantle. Myron clicked his tongue, but paused by Kazon’s smoking corpse. Nudging it with his toe, he said, “Get up, you’re not dead.”

Clear gray eyes opened in the black and blistered face. “Dad? Is that you?”

“Yes.” Myron turned away.

Mouthing a bad word, ‘Kazon’ got to her feet.

Trailing Myron, they made their way through the petrified forest of dignitaries to where Ares was still doing his victory dance. With his back to them, he was shooting his thumbs as he crowed to Hercules, “Did you see that? Am I good, or what?” Hercules was himself again, holding the armrests of the throne in a white-knuckled grip.

“Ares,” Myron said.

Ares whipped around and stopped dead, hip tilted, hand in the air, thumb and fingers cocked. “Dad?”

“Find another seat for your brother.” With a snap a campaign chair, witness to more than a few battles, appeared beside the throne. Myron went to Hercules and put a hand on his shoulder. “Son?”

Hercules pulled away from him. “I should have known you were behind thi—” Nonetheless he was rising and that was when he saw Iphicles over Myron’s shoulder. “It was you…!”

“Let the king sit down and we’ll get it straightened out.”

Going from alabaster white to volcanic red, Hercules was up and lunging at Ares. “I’m going to kill him!”

“Oops!” Ares dodged behind the Spartan ambassador using him for a shield as Iphicles and Myron leaped to restrain the outraged demigod.

It was like trying to harness a minotaur. Iphicles was snatched off of his feet and landed starfish among the Megaran delegation. As he caught his breath, he watched Myron grow a foot taller, forcibly haul Hercules around and shove him down on the chair Ares had provided. “Sit,” Myron said. Hercules bounced up to charge Ares again and Myron said, “Stay.” Hercules was stuck to the seat.

“Let me kill him!” Hercules pleaded.

“It’s an understandable impulse,” Myron said. “Calm down and we’ll get this straightened out.”

Iphicles sat up, not sure whether to challenge Ares or go to Hercules, but there was Myron—no—Zeus offering him a hand, saying, “I expect you’d like to sit down, my dear.”

When the king of the gods offers you his hand, you accept. The shock of his landing cleared his head of the black afterimage of the lightning bolt, but his knees were shaking as he sat and he needed both hands to take the goblet of pale yellow wine Zeus handed him from somewhere. He drank, barely registering the wink that went with it.

When he lowered the cup, Zeus said, “Is that better?”

No. It wasn’t. For a moment, as he looked around, Myron wasn’t the only one who’d changed. ‘Kazon’ had become grave gray-eyed woman in bronze armor with a tri-crested helmet. The strutting dark warrior in greaves, with the horse tale swishing on his helm was Ares. And Hercules, naked and golden…Iphicles shut his eyes. When he opened them, Ares, again in leather and smiling like the sphinx before eating some bad guesser, had sidled up to Athena and was chanting, “Blew it, you blew it.

“Oh, kiss my aegis,” she said.

“Ares, don’t taunt your sister,” Zeus admonished.

“Why not?”

“She takes these things seriously.” Zeus pointed to a spot beside Hercules’ chair and Ares took it, evading the kick Hercules aimed at him.

With the exception of Zeus, everything was back to normal. Iphicles looked in the cup, there was still some wine there but he decided not to finish it. Zeus, meanwhile, resting his elbow on scrunched shoulder of some retainer frozen in the act of ducking the incoming debris, contemplated the four of them like children caught hooking academy.

“Who,” he said, “would like to explain why I found Athena trying to kill Hercules? I thought that was one of the things I’d forbidden.”

 

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> In every hunt there is wounding and death.


End file.
